Believe in Yesterday
by Potter47
Summary: What if you could reach back in time and change the one event that forever altered your life? Would you do it? What would it be? COMPLETE! Sequel to Living inside Yesterday, yet could probably stand alone. Please review. AU
1. Prologue

Believe in Yesterday  
_ Potter47 ** ~ Prologue ~  
Reflections **_ "Two truths are told,  
As happy prologues to the swelling act  
Of the imperial theme."  
~ Shakespeare 

"How's my little queen doing?"

The nine-year old spun around, away from the magazine she was intently staring at, yet being far too bored to actually read. "Mum! You're home!"

"I told you I'd be home at four-eighteen," her mother reminded, smiling.

"But it's four _nine_teen!" the daughter exclaimed. "You're late!"

"Oh, no!" said the mother, staring horrified at the watch on her right hand. "I am late for Queen Luna's tea-party! How will I ever make it up to her?"

Luna giggled at the look on her mother's face. It was a cross between a horrified, wide-eyed look, and a happy, motherly grin. It was quite an amusing sight for the young girl.

"You could clean my room!" Luna suggested happily. 

"Not likely, young lady!" called her father, London Lovegood, from the kitchen.

Luna's mother's head snapped up at the sound of her husband's voice. "London?" she called. "What are you doing home?" Her face quirked into a smile. 

The tall, brown-nearly-black haired man walked into the doorway that separated the living room from the kitchen, with a dish towel in one hand, drying off a plate the Muggle way.

"I have good news," he said, smiling at his family. 

"You always have good _news,_" stated Luna matter-of-factly. "You work at a _news_ magazine!"

"Exactly, princess--" Luna glared at her father. "_Queen_, excuse me. Exactly. I have good news, and it has to do with the Quib."

"You were promoted!" guessed his wife happily.

"You hear that, guys?" Luna asked her stuffed animals. "Daddy was promoted!"

"No, I wasn't promoted, Cynthia," he told his wife, still grinning. "Better."

Cynthia looked confuzzled. She looked very much like Luna did the first time she had tried to sound out 'Crumple Horned Snorkack.' "What, did old Baxter _give_ you the magazine, or something?" she asked sarcastically.

London was beaming. "Right in one."

"_What_?" she said, unbelieving. "Don, did you just say he _did_?"

He looked at her oddly, as if he couldn't quite understand what she had said. "What'd you just say?"

"I said, did you just say he _did_ give you the magazine?" she repeated.

"No, the other part."

"What, 'What?'" she said.

"No!" he said, hurriedly. "You called me _Don_. You haven't called me that since...well, before we started dating..."

"Shame on you, Mum!" said Luna. "His name's _Daddy_, not _Don_." She paused for a second. "Hey! _Don,_ rhymes with _Ron!_ And _Ron_ is part of _Ronald!_"

"That's nice, dear," said Cynthia distractedly. "He _gave_ you the _Quibbler?_ How--how could he do that?"

"Apparently, the old man's retiring. It's about time too; he must be about...what, one-seventy?"

"Must be."

"He said he likes the way I think. He reckons I'm the right kind of person to run the Quib."

"That's _amazing_ news!" She enveloped her husband in a hug, and kissed him on the cheek. Luna giggled.

"Mum! What about our tea?!" 

Cynthia abruptly broke away from London, who chuckled. She practically flew back to her daughter, whipped out her wand, and made tea pour out of it into the two teacups on the living room table, while balancing on one foot. 

"Yay!" 

Luna and Cynthia sat down at the table and began to slowly, and exaggeratedly properly, drink their tea. Both were chuckling into their teacups, and London was outright laughing. He had returned to the kitchen.

"Dinner'll be ready in ten minutes," he called.

"_Honestly_, London, why do you _insist_ on doing it the _Muggle_ way?" asked Cynthia in a much stronger English accent than what was her usual. 

"Because it's the way I learned to cook, and I'm--"

"_--not going to change for you silly witches_," Cynthia and Luna finished, rolling their eyes and giggling.

"Exactly!"

* * *

"Mum!" called Luna, pulling on her mother's arm. "Can I look into your mirror?"

Cynthia bent down to her daughter's height. "And what do you think you'll see, if you look into this mirror?"

"My _face_, of course!" Luna said obviously. "Obviously." See. She _did_ say it.

"Aha!" exclaimed Luna's mother. "You assumed!" she said. "What have I told you about assuming?"

"_Never assume..._" said Luna dully. "Yeah, yeah. But of _course_ I'll see my face. What else would I see in a _mirror?_"

"Never assume, Queen Luna," said Cynthia seriously. "My mother told me, and her mother told her, and her mother told her. _Never_ assume. It just so happens that this is a special mirror. You _won't_ see your face." She paused, as if to correct a mistake. "At least, you'll _probably_ not see your face. You _might_."

"Let me _see_!" said Luna, wishing her mother would hurry up and give in. They wasted so much time, sometimes.

"Alright, alright," agreed her mother. "But be _careful!_"

"Of _course_."

Cynthia hoisted her daughter off the floor, and sat her on her lap. Just as she looked at the mirror, Luna saw an image fade away. It had been a blond, teenage witch, and she looked extraordinarily familiar...

"Mum, was that _you_?" asked Luna, bending her head around to look at her mother.

"Yes," Cynthia said. "That was me, when I was at Hogwarts. The year I fell in love with your father, actually." Luna giggled once again. "So, are you going to look at yourself, or just sit there giggling?"

Luna spun back around, and sat very professionally atop her mother's lap. She gazed into the mirror's depths.

"I don't _see_ anything--"

But then, she did. The grey smoke that had covered the surface of the mirror vanished, and Luna could see what lay beyond it. A field. Stones...she could count twelve of them. Some tall, some fat. Lined up in a row. But wait...one was missing. Her eyes widened. 

People came into focus, around the area where the last stone should have been. They were in a rectangle. Around something in the middle. A big box. She could see...she could see _her_--herself. And Daddy. And some of Daddy's friends. She recognised a feeble looking old man as Daddy's boss--or his _old_ boss, in more ways than one.

But where was Mum?

The view from the mirror seemed to spin around, to fully circle the box. Then it came back around, and she could see herself, close up. She looked...sad. She looked very, very sad. And she could feel it, now, too. Inside her very being. She could feel grief worse than anything else she had ever felt before.

The Luna in the mirror began to cry, and before long, the real Luna was crying as well.

"What's wrong?" asked her mother worriedly.

"Shh..." Luna wanted to know what was happening. Something was wrong. _Where is Mum? _She wanted to see her mother. If she could just see her, everything would be alright.

Luna realised for the first time...the Luna in the mirror looked _just_ like her. She was the same age; she had the same length hair. It wasn't like when her Mum saw her _younger_ self. This was _her._

And then she heard something. A voice. A deep voice. 

"We are gathered here today, in remembrance of Cynthia Lovegood--"

"No!"

Luna toppled off of the chair backwards, taking her mother with her. She shrieked as they fell, and she felt her mother's hands wrap around her waist.

"It's alright, Luna. Whatever you saw...it's just a picture. Like one of the ones downstairs, on the mantle. It's not _real_." But Luna heard something in her mother's voice. As if even she didn't believe what she was saying. 

It scared her. 

It scared her a lot. 

**_~ Author's Note ~ _** So it begins... Sadly, the next chapter -- chapter _one_ -- will not be up for quite a while. I like to get several chapters done before I post the first. I only posted this because I know it isn't going to change. It already happened. But I don't want any plot holes, so I want to get a good bit into the story before the plot _really_ begins. 


	2. The Early Bird

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47** Part One   
Old Friends**_ "A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step."  
Confucius**_ Chapter One   
The Early Bird _** __

"Luna, could we... Could we just...start over? Just pick up where we left off? Like the last five years...didn't happen?"

Luna smiled slightly. "You want to start over?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah."

"So, you want me to call you 'Ronald' again?" she asked, pushing a stray bit of dirty-blond hair behind an ear. Ron realised she was wearing the radishes.

"I kinda liked it when you called me Ronald," he admitted, rather sheepishly. "Only my Mum calls me that, and that's only when she's mad. I liked having someone call me it without the anger."

"Alright then, Ronald," she said. "We shall start over. As if the last five years never happened."

Never happened...

"Never...happened..."

Ron's eyes popped open. What had he just been dreaming of? Oh, yes. _Her._ The same dreams had been replaying themselves in his mind ever since he had returned home from Hogwarts. He had never even dreamt of Hermione this much, when he had fancied her.

Ron shook his head, sitting up in bed. What had changed? Well, _he _had changed, for sure. His romantic interest for Hermione seemed to have existed in a different universe. One where Luna didn't _really_ exist.

It was the second week of July. The...fourteenth. Two weeks into the summer holidays. Six weeks left.

He got up out of bed, and looked around his room. Orange. Very, very orange. Just how he liked it. Not a speck of maroon in the room. Something about that colour just...made him feel uncomfortable. Almost like spiders, but not really a _fear_. What did Hermione call it? Arachno..._phobia_. That was it.

Hermione. The last time he had seen Hermione, she had nearly throttled him. It was entirely unexpected, too. One second, she was her normal, Hermione self, the next, she was...very _Slytherin-_ish.

__

What time is it? He looked around at the clock on his bedside table. _Six? In the morning? What am I doing awake?_

But, for some reason, he didn't even feel tired. He felt very awake, as if it was...later. He usually didn't wake up until at least nine or ten during the summer, unless there was de-gnoming, or you know, rescuing-Harry-from-the-Dursleys, to do.

Ron dressed, something he had never done at such an ungodly hour, and quietly walked out of his room. Of course, that was the end of the "quietly" part, as the moment he stepped onto the top stair..._creak!_ He made his way down the stairs, as softly as he could. But, alas, there was only so many ways to prevent feet as big as his from making noise; he wasn't very skilled at any of them.

Miraculously, he didn't seem to have woken anyone up. He heard Fred and George snoring as he passed their room, and Ginny could sleep through anything.

But...what was that? He heard something. A loud noise from the kitchen. He walked toward it, and saw his mother, cursing the table leg, rubbing her foot. No, she was _actually_ _cursing_ the table leg. As in, _Incendio!_

"_Mum!_" he whisper-yelled. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, Ron." She hurriedly doused the flames. "I was just avenging my foot."

"What?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

"_Every day!_" his mother said. "Every day, I bang my damn..." She glanced at him, as if wondering if he had heard. "I bang my darn foot on the table leg. This time, I decided to pay it back."

"But...it's a _table_."

"And _this_," she gestured to her foot, "_hurts_. It deserved what it got." She gestured to the singed wood.

"Mum, you should rest..." he said.

"Nonsense. I still have another. What are you doing up so early? Are you hungry? I can make eggs..."

"No thanks, Mum. You really should rest that, if it hurts so much."

She looked at him, incredulous. "Did you, Ronald Bilius Weasley just turn down _food?_"

"Sometimes people change," he said defensively.

She shook her head. "But sometimes, they don't have to. It's Luna, isn't it?"

"_What?_" he said, staring at his mother. "What are you talking about?"

"Every one of you: Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George. Every time they _really_ fancied someone, they started turning down meals. Ginny, even. She was quickest, actually." She looked into space sentimentally for a moment. "After we took you to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, for your first year, she started turning down meals. You can imagine how much extra food we had _then_; everyone else out of the house, and Ginny not eating..."

"Mum..." he said uncomfortably.

"Oh, and they stopped sleeping well," she added, looking up at the clock. The hand labelled "Ron" had spun around to "_Trying to hide something...failing miserably..._" He had never seen that label before. It seemed to have appeared for the special occasion.

"So when did you start to fancy Luna?" she asked interestedly.

"Mum!" he said again. "Who said I fancied Luna?"

She chuckled. "You did. I was in your room last night, getting your dirty laundry, and you were mumbling something about "starting over." I heard Luna's name come up." She smiled at her youngest son. "I knew it was only a matter of time..."

The clock spun faster than seemed possible to "_Embarrassed._" She had been in his _room?_

"_Mum!_" he said yet again. "This isn't exactly a topic I want to discuss right now."

"Later, then?"

"Goodbye, Mum," he said, walking toward the front door.

"Where are you going?" she asked, having a pretty good idea.

"I need some air. I think I'll take a walk."

"Don't be too long," she said, as he went out the door.

She shook her head. It was always the same. _I wonder if he knows where he's going..._

Ron didn't know where he was going. But that didn't stop him from going there. He walked, and walked. He hadn't walked so much since Luna had taken him to her mother's secret room, by Dumbledore's office. It had taken him a while to get out of there. Luna clearly hadn't known that you can only open it from the inside with the password that was needed for the outside. Of course, he hadn't known it, so it had taken until Luna had doubled back, for no apparent reason, and opened it once again, for him to get out.

He walked down to Ottery St. Catchpole. He could see Stoatshead Hill, where they had met Cedric Diggory and his father, in the distance.

"_No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already..._"

He didn't even remember that...well, he _hadn't_ remembered. Now he did. Hermione had mentioned it at the Gryffindor table when Harry and Ginny had been missing at the end of term. Luna had been at the Quidditch World Cup, with her dad.

He kept walking. Through all the Muggle parts of the town. Luckily, he wore Muggle clothes during the summer, as did the rest of his siblings. Except Percy, now, of course, and likely Bill and Charlie, as well.

Percy still hadn't come round. He still thought that the Ministry was the right side to be on. Mum had tried sending a present for his birthday, but it was to the same result as the Christmas jumper. He sent it back.

He passed Muggle stores. Eckeltronics, and such. Ginny had been asking Dad something about eckeltronics the other day...what was that about? Something to do with tape. Must be the Muggle version of Spellotape. _That's eckeltric?_

He came into the residential area of the city. There were houses all around him. It was odd, how close together Muggles put houses. Some of them were hardly separated at all. He could see, in one yard, was a rather vicious-looking dog, leashed to a pole. It was barking at a peaceful looking cat, who was purposefully ignoring it from the opposite side of the fence, only three feet away.

Hang on...some of the houses looked familiar. Like that one; it was deep blue, with a large lion doorknocker visible. And that one, across from it, with the big...flapping...bird...

"Luna!" he said to himself. In reality, the bird was not part of the house, but atop a dirty-blond head in one of the top windows. He strode up the front path, and knocked on the front door. Of course, he had acted on impulse, and had no idea whatsoever to say to the dark haired, tall, pleasant looking man who opened the door.

"Yes?" he said, looking Ron in the eye. They were about the same height; Ron, and Luna's father. Ron seemed to have almost stopped growing; maybe only a foot or two left.

"Erm..." Ron said. "I'm..." He stopped, and began again. "Hi. My name's Ron. I'm a friend of Luna."

"Ron? Ron _Weasley?_" the man said, looking considerably happier than he had just a moment before. "It's been so long! Last time I saw you, you were this high!" He gestured to a height somewhere around his elbow, which wasn't all that short.

"Erm, well, hello Mr. Lovegood. Could I talk to Luna?"

"Of course!"

Mr. Lovegood walked into the house, and called up a stairway. "Luna! Ron Weasley is here to see you!"

"Ronald?" Ron could hear Luna's voice quietly, followed by a soft _bump!_ "Ow!"

"She must of bumped her head again," said Mr. Lovegood fondly. "She's cleaning the attic. I would help, but she just _loves _cleaning." He lowered his voice. "And I'm allergic to attics. Have been since I was little."

Ron blinked. "Right." _Allergic to attics? Maybe to _dust_, but who's allergic to actual _attics_?_

"What are you doing here, Ronald?" Luna said, at the top of the stairs, rubbing her eagle-topped head.

"Just in the neighbourhood," he said, thinking it was the only possible explanation that made sense. _Oh, I just woke up from a dream about you, to be interrogated by my mother about you, so I decided I'd turn up at your house, _asking_ about you! Did I mention I may well _fancy_ you?_

"Well, that's logical." _She didn't read my mind, right? She means the "in the neighbourhood," thing, right?_

"Dad?" Luna asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes?" he said pleasantly.

She jerked her head to the right, making the eagle fall off.

"What, is the hat itching?" he asked worriedly. "Maybe you're inheriting the allergy...but then _who_ will clean the attic?"

"No, Dad." She jerked her head again. _What's wrong?_ thought Ron.

"Oh!" said Mr. Lovegood, seemingly understanding what Luna was trying to say. "You're right, I _should_ turn on the wireless."

Luna put her face in her hands, shaking her head.

"Don't mind my Dad," she said quietly to Ron. "He's a bit _odd_. He has been since my Mum...you know."

"Yeah...I, eh, didn't even notice," said Ron awkwardly.

A tune slowly began to play in the living room of Luna's house.

"Ah..." said Mr. Lovegood, blissfully, his head tilted back, listening. "The Beatles. I've always had a thing for Muggle music. I've just never adjusted to those wizarding bands..."

Luna's father began to sing along with the music, "_Oh yeah I'll, tell you somethin', I think you'll understand...when I, say that somethin', I wanna hold you're hand..._"

"We'll be in the kitchen," said Luna, dragging Ron away from the almost amusing sight of Mr. Lovegood dancing with what looked like a Muggle broomstick. The man didn't pay them any mind.

"What are you doing up so early, Ronald?" asked Luna, hoisting herself up onto the kitchen counter. "It's not even seven o'clock."

"I woke up," said Ron simply.

"What'd you dream about?" she asked conversationally.

"I dreamt about--" Ron stopped short. "What?"

"What, what?" replied Luna confusedly.

"Why did you ask what I dreamt about?"

"Oh," she said, understanding, "it's just habit, I suppose...Dad and I always talk about our dreams. We have for as long as I can remember. Mum used to...never mind. But it was quite a surprise, when I started at Hogwarts, and _no_-one talked about dreams. Well, I suppose Professor Trelawney talked about dreams, but I've never really been any good at divination," she said, rather shiftily. "So, what did you dream about?" she asked curiously.

"Er...Quidditch." _All-purpose excuse._ "I dreamt about Quidditch."

"That's _weird!_" said Luna excitedly. "So did I! I dreamt about the Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor match at the end of last year. That's why I wore my hat today.I wish I was a bit better at Quidditch. I tried out a couple years back, but I didn't make it. Wizards should have horseback riding sports. I would be good at _that..._"

__

Luna was already in place, sitting side-saddle and adjusting her robes as though she did this every day.

Yeah, thought Ron. _She had seemed rather skilled at riding thestrals._

"So," she said, legs swinging. "How has your summer been?" she asked.

"Okay, I guess," he said. "Harry should be able to come soon."

"How's Ginny been?" she asked curiously. "Is she alright, after everything that happened last year?"

"I reckon so," Ron said, scratching the back of his neck. "She's been asking my Dad about eckeltronics and stuff all summer, which is kind of odd. But other than that, she's been perfectly normal."

Luna looked at him quizzically, eyes narrowed. "Eckeltronics?" she asked. "What are eckeltronics?"

"Er, eckeltricity is something Muggles use since they don't have magic," he said, recalling his father's explanation. "Most eckeltronics use plugs, but some use _batteries_, which are little--"

"_Oh!_" said Luna. "You mean _electricity! _Of course I know what _that_ is." She nodded her head to the living room. "That wireless uses batteries. Most of this stuff is electric."

She hopped off the counter and walked to a rectangle on the wall. "_This_," she said, "is called a light-switch. It's electric." She flipped a little flippy-thing in the middle of the rectangle. A bright light erupted above Ron's head, as if a giant wand had been lit. Ron eyed it suspiciously, and Luna smiled.

"Why's it so bright?" he said, squinting.

"It's called _fluorescent. _It's brighter than most light bulbs."

"Turn it off," said Ron, shielding his eyes. "It's too bright."

Luna flipped the flippy-thing once again. The light went out.

A figurative light bulb went on above Ron's head. "Hey, Luna," he said.

"Yes?"

"You said you don't like attics?"

She shook her head. "No, I just don't like cleaning. Attics are entirely satisfactory. You live in an attic," she stated.

He blinked. "I know I do." _What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Attics..._

"Well," he said. "I could help you. Clean the attic, I mean. If you really don't like it. I've had to clean ours a thousand times, because of our ghoul. He likes to mess things up, and I'm right next-door. I'm used to cleaning attics."

"Really?" she asked. "You want to help?"

"Yeah," he said. "That's what I said."

She looked at him shrewdly. "One condition."

"What?"

"Wait here."

Luna turned round and dashed off into the living room, and up the stairs. _Why didn't she use these stairs? _There was a set of stairs right off of the kitchen, that would have been perfectly okay for going upstairs. However, she didn't even seem to notice them.

She returned a minute or two later, roaring lion in hand. "Wear this," she said. She had put the eagle back on her head already.

"Er..." _Why did I volunteer again? Oh, yeah, I fancy her and all that rubbish. Why?_

"_Sure_," he said awkwardly.

"You're an angel," she said, smiling, clearly happy he was going to help. Of course, he had no idea what he was in for. Cleaning the attic was just the beginning.

**_ Next Chapter   
From Privet Drive_** "The mind is never satisfied with the objects immediately before it,  
but is always breaking away from the present moment,  
and losing itself in schemes of future felicity..."  
Samuel Johnson**_Coming Soon_**


	3. From Privet Drive

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47** Part One   
Old Friends**_ "The mind is never satisfied with the objects immediately before it,  
but is always breaking away from the present moment,  
and losing itself in schemes of future felicity..."  
Samuel Johnson**_ Chapter Two   
From Privet Drive _**

"Hello, Harry!" said Mrs Weasley happily, emerging from the front door of the Burrow, to greet the guest.

"Hello, Mrs Weasley," said Harry in return. "Is Ginny home?" he asked curiously.

Mrs Weasley smirked knowingly at him. "She's in her room."

Harry hurriedly walked away from Mrs Weasley, without so much as another word. She stared after him wistfully.

Harry entered the front door, and before another second went by, he was at the foot of the stairs.

"Ginny!" Harry called up the stairwell. "It's Harry!"

Harry was ever so excited. He hadn't seen Ginny in weeks, and it seemed like years. Every night, he had had nightmares, about her being killed, and attacked. But now he would finally see her again.

Ginny didn't reply, so Harry called again. "Are you there?!" he asked.

"Go ahead up," said Mrs Weasley, popping up at Harry's shoulder. "She's probably reading or something."

Harry did as she said. He marched up the stairs of the Burrow for the first time in two years. It felt good to be back. He had most definitely missed it.

"Ginny?" he said again, once he reached the landing on which her door was situated. "Ginny, are you there?"

He could hear muffled sounds from behind the door. They sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place them.

"Ginny?" he said once again, knocking on her door with his knuckles. "Can I come in?"

He reached for the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open. He had never been in Ginny's room before. It was bright pink, with frilly lace on all the furniture. That wasn't the only thing on the furniture, however...

Sitting atop the bed was Ginny, looking exactly as she had at King's Cross. In fact, she even had her school robes on still. However, she was not alone on the bed. Next to her was someone he had hoped never to see again. Tom Riddle.

Oh, and they were snogging.

Ginny pulled away from the young Dark Lord, and glanced dazedly at Harry. "Oh, _Harry!_" she said. "This is _Tom! _He's decided to visit! Hope you don't mind. Turns out I really don't love you, after all. I want to be with Tommy _forever..._"

"WHAT!" screamed Harry, horrified. "What do you mean?"

"She _means_," said Tom Riddle slyly, "that she really loves _me_. You have no purpose any longer." He raised a wand -- Harry's wand -- and aimed it at its owner.

Ginny laughed, as Riddle said the curse that would end it all.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

"AHHHH!" Harry sprang up in bed, panting. His scar burned. He quickly scanned the premises. No Riddle. No Ginny. He let out a breath. _Only a dream..._

It wasn't entirely unique, to have a nightmare of Ginny. However, this was the first time he'd had this particular one. Never before had he dreamt that Ginny would...do that. No, that was absurd. Ginny would never _snog_ Tom Riddle. She loved _him_. Harry. She had told him so.

Harry never really was able to fall back to sleep after a nightmare. As such, he got out of bed, and wandered over to the window. It was still early. He could see the moon above the perpetually uniform Little Whinging.

__

Full moon, he thought. Professor Lupin would probably be waking up from his latest transformation. Harry shivered, thinking of what his former professor went through every month. He wouldn't wish that on anyone. Luckily, he could take the Wolfsbane potion when he was living with the Order. Snape could make it.

__

Now that's_ a confusing subject. _In the past five years, Harry had seen probably a dozen different faces of Snape. There was the get-out-of-my-sight-Potter-as-I-clearly-despise-everything-about-you face, and then there was the I'm-not-evil-and-I'm-trying-to-save-your-neck face, which was always a little bit better than the former. More recently, Harry had discovered the get-out-of-my-dungeon-you-weren't-supposed-to-look-at-my-Pensieve-and-I'm-not-teaching-anymore-Occlumency-and-I-told-you-your-father-was-a-git face, which was probably the most confusing of all.

How did Harry get to thinking about _Snape?_ He had been thinking about _Ginny_.

__

Ginny...

What if something happens to Ginny? he thought for the millionth time. _What if I'm just sitting here, waiting for Dumbledore's permission, and Voldemort attacks! I can't let that happen!_

What was there to do, though? He couldn't just Apparate to the Burrow, of course, as he wasn't of-age. And it was likely that he _still _wouldn't be able to Apparate to the Burrow, even if he _was_ seventeen; the wards around Privet Drive most likely prevented that.

__

The wards prevent Apparating... But what if he _didn't _Apparate?

Harry practically jumped over to his trunk. He slammed open the cover, only to catch it before it hit the wall. He checked the clock beside his bed.

** 6: 58**

The Dursley's wouldn't be up for at least an hour or two. Dudley, especially, never woke up early during the summer. When he _did _get up, he preferred the Hobbit way of doing things -- though Harry wasn't entirely sure if Hobbits had actually existed, or if they were just another Wizarding myth -- first breakfast, second breakfast, brunch, lunch, and Harry-forgot-what-else. But, of course, Dudley didn't eat nearly as much as he used to.

Harry quietly moved the books off to one side of his trunk. Beneath a paper-wrapped-something that he had probably forgot about, was his father's silvery Invisibility Cloak. He reached down and grasped the smooth fabric with his hand, pulling it out of the trunk. He could feel a tingling sensation in the back of his mind, and he came up with a plan. He sat down, leaning his back against the trunk.

__

I could sneak out...I could go sneak to the Burrow, and see her. I'd love_ to see her again... Who cares what Dumbledore says? He's an old fool, Dumbledore. Doesn't know what's good for me. He thinks he knows everything..._

Harry shook his head.

But he does_, doesn't he? _He looked up at the ceiling, as if trying to see the attic above it. _He's probably watching right now. He _does_ know everything -- about _me_, anyway..._

Harry's head snapped back to the silvery cloak in his hands. He gazed at it with a funny looking smile on his face.

__

But I would be free_! Even if the old fool did know where I was, he couldn't find me. _He_ can't see through Invisibility Cloaks..._

Harry looked straight forward again, the smile gone.

__

Can't he? How would I know, anyway? Sure, he doesn't have an eye like Moody, but you never know.

HE CANNOT SEE THROUGH INVISIBILITY CLOAKS! Harry's mind screamed at him. _It's impossible. The only way wizards can see through them is with magical eyes. The _only_ way! Dumbledore could never find you!_

Harry jumped to his feet, which seemed an entirely unexpected yet ordinary thing to do. Half of him expected it, while the other didn't.

__

YOU? he thought furiously. _You mean _me!__

What?

You said you_! WHO ARE YOU?_

The thoughts in Harry's mind abruptly changed. From thoughts of escape to thoughts of revenge.

__

Who do you think I am, boy? Who else would I be? the thoughts hissed.

Voldemort, thought Harry.

__

The one and only. Nice room_, Potter. A bit small, but you do live with Muggles..._

GET OUT OF MY MIND!

Sorry, I can only be out of my_ mind. As I have been since I was born. Besides, there's _plenty_ of room. What's Dumbledore been teaching you all these years? Only the Disarming Jinx?_

Harry involuntarily remembered the Duelling Club in second year. Of Snape blasting Lockhart back across the stage.

__

Oh, Severus taught you that? I guess Dumbledore hasn't_ taught you anything... Who taught you the Time Freezing spell? Quite the spell, Harry. Of course, you won't be getting away with that one again. Precautions have been taken._

Once again, memories flashed through Harry's head that he would have preferred to leave buried within the depths of his mind. This time, of the Chamber of Secrets, in nineteen-forty-five.

I_ taught you that? Never would've guessed..._

Get out of my mind! Harry thought again.

__

Develop a mental vocabulary, boy. Has dear Ginny not informed you of what it is like to be possessed? Irrelevant, I suppose. But this isn't possession, per se. You would not be conscious if this was possession. It's more of a...mental conversation. New experiment of mine. Of course, it has been a bit one-sided...

GET OUT OF MY MIND!

Please, Harry. You're giving me a headache.

Harry's head unwillingly looked about his room. _So this is what the famous number four, Privet Drive looks like from the inside.... Would you _mind_ giving me a tour? Oh, never _mind_. It's all here, inside your head..._

This "mental conversation" as Voldemort had called it, was very much like having the Sorting Hat on. It was, of course, a much more unpleasant experience.

__

Ah, the Sorting Hat...good times. Final Slytherin of my year, I was. It took the old Hat only a few nanoseconds to make a decision with me; Slytherin, through and through. That's me.

Harry felt an odd (and it had to be pretty weird to qualify as _odd_, right now) tingle at the back of his mind.

__

No you're not, thought Harry_. You're lying. The Sorting Hat took its time with you. _He paused, remembering how, at the end of last year, he had known exactly what the prophecy was about. Now was very much the same; he knew what he was thinking was true. And it scared him, for the thoughts he was thinking had not ever been thought before, in his mind. His eyes widened as the revelation unveiled itself to his mind. _It gave you a choice. You chose Slytherin...I didn't._

What? thought Voldemort to Harry, almost screaming. _How did you know that?_

It's all here, thought Harry ironically, _inside your head._

Apparently, it _wasn't_ a one-sided conversation.

__

You're lying, thought the Dark Lord, overly nervous. _You can't see my thoughts. It doesn't work that way._

Harry laughed. _Then how would I know that you fancied Professor McGonagall for three years?_

I did not! Voldemort was getting impatient. He clearly didn't like the way the "conversation" was going. _I-I created those memories for this conversation. They are not real. They were simply for you to become distracted, so that I could more easily access _your_ mind. I've learned all I came for. See you round._

A tingling sensation announced Voldemort's abrupt departure. Harry didn't know what to think. _Should I tell McGonagall?_

The Dark Lord laughed.

He rose from his large, throne-like armchair, and strode out of the fire-lit room. Everything was falling into place.

"Master, was the experiment successful?" asked Lucius Malfoy, who had been waiting outside of the door. The servant had gladly offered Malfoy Manor when the Riddle House was no longer available.

"Perfectly." The Dark Lord strode quickly down the corridor, with Malfoy at his heels for a moment, before the servant could catch up.

Voldemort cast a sideways glance at Lucius Malfoy. "Will young Draco be ready, as you have promised? As you know, he must be initiated at full moon, or the mark will not function properly."

Malfoy looked nervously at his feet. "Draco...still has not turned up. We have been searching, but he seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet." He looked back up at Voldemort. "I _know _Potter must have done something to him. No one else would have the power, to-"

"Potter has not touched your son, Lucius," said Voldemort confidently, still walking at a steady pace. "I would know if he had. In case you forgot, I was inside his mind, not five minutes ago."

"But what else could have happened? Vincent and Gregory say he was on the Express at the start of the trip. Then, he said he was going to 'visit' Potter, as they say he always does. He _never_ came back."

"_Vincent_ and _Gregory _are dumber than even their fathers. And I don't suppose you forget what dear _Vinny's_ father did? If not for him, I would not have had to rebuild my plan from scratch. If not for him, Potter would not be in _love_. I would trust a _crab_, before I trust the word of a Crabbe again."

Malfoy looked rather confused for a minute, before he got the joke.

"But _what _could have happened? And what can we do? You said yourself, Draco needs to be initiated. _Now._ Everything depends on it."

The Dark Lord shook his head. "Keep believing that, Lucius. It'll help your ego."

"What? You said that-"

The Dark Lord whirled on Malfoy. "I said _nothing_ that would give the impression that Draco Malfoy was vital to my plan," he hissed. "I merely said that if he _is_ to be initiated, it needs to be now. I did _not_ say that he _needed _to be initiated. Pay attention, Lucius. It'll help your understanding."

Malfoy looked very deflated as they completed the long trek to the circle. What circle? The circle of Death Eaters, of course! They were gathered in the meeting room of Malfoy Manor. Malfoy and Voldemort walked into the room through the back entrance, to emerge on a wooden platform, raised a foot above the rest of the room. Malfoy followed the Dark Lord to the centre of the platform.

"What are you doing, Lucius?" asked Voldemort.

"I'm-"

"_Get_ in line!" hissed the Dark Lord. _Incompetence. He thinks he's more important than the rest. He thinks he's irreplaceable._

Malfoy scampered off the platform, into his rightful place of the circle that surrounded.

Voldemort spoke to the room at large. "Our ultimate goal is finally within reach," he began. "The time is near, for this war to be won. Soon, immortality will be _mine_.

"My final plan has been set in motion. Potter believes he knows more than he should. When, in fact, he knows precisely what I want him to. He will begin to doubt himself. Doubt his loyalty. Doubt his past. Doubt his heritage. He will begin to doubt everything that he knows."

The Death Eaters were as silent as a ghost's footsteps. They could not believe what they were hearing. The _final _plan? But the war had just begun... Had it really been that simple?

"Harry Potter will begin to doubt, even the dearest thing to his heart -- his _love_, the Weasley girl.

"As you all know, I was...dissatisfied with the prophecy. It did not live up to expectations. However, since then, an ingenious idea has formed in my mind. I have one hell of a plan, and if I know the one with the so-called power at all, there is no possibility of failure.

"In just three short months, it will all be over. In just three short months, I will win. Harry Potter will be dead."

The Dark Lord smirked an evil smirk _All, in just three, short, months._

** Next Chapter   
To See the Wizard** "Danger, danger, Will Robinson!"  
Robot B9**_Coming Soon_**


	4. To the Burrow

Believe in Yesterday  


_Potter47 _

__

_**Part One   
Old Friends**_

_****_

"Danger, danger, Will Robinson!"  
Robot B9 

**_Chapter Three   
To the Burrow_**

"So, how messy is your attic, exactly?" asked Ron as he followed Luna up the staircase, lion hat in place atop his head.

"Oh, it's pretty bad," said Luna conversationally. "It hasn't been cleaned since Mum died."

"Five _years_?" asked Ron, shocked.

"Almost six."

Ron was going to comment further, but he caught his tongue. Did Luna _want_ to talk about her mum? He couldn't imagine that she would. If _his_ mum had died, he would probably have locked himself in the attic. But Luna seemed entirely okay about it. _Conversationally_ seemed to be the adverb of choice, for Luna Lovegood.

The two continued their trek.

It was as if someone in Harry's mind had pressed "replay."

The _conversation_ that had taken place within Harry's mind replayed itself, and he basically heard it all again. It was very like what had been happening at the end of last year; Harry's flashbacks.

Has dear Ginny not informed you of what it is like to be possessed?

****

GET OUT OF MY MIND!

Sorry, I can only be out of my_ mind. As I have been since I was born. Besides, there's _plenty_ of room. What's Dumbledore been teaching you all these years? Only the Disarming Jinx?_

Oh, Severus taught you that? I guess Dumbledore hasn't_ taught you anything... Who taught you the Time Freezing spell? Quite the spell, Harry. Of course, you won't be getting away with that one again. Precautions have been taken._

I_ taught you that? Never would've guessed..._

****

GET OUT OF MY MIND!

Develop a mental vocabulary, boy. Has dear Ginny not informed you of what it is like to be possessed? Irrelevant, I suppose. But this isn't possession, per se. You would not be conscious if this was possession. It's more of a...mental conversation. New experiment of mine. Of course, it has been a bit one-sided...

Quite the spell, Harry. Of course, you won't be getting away with that one again. Precautions have been taken.

The Time Freezing spell?

That same person now pressed the "stop" button, and Harry returned to the present. The Time Freezing spell..._Tempus Fugit._ Harry had learned it in the Chamber of Secrets, when Tom Riddle had seemingly killed Ginny.

Ginny...

Was Ginny alright? He had no way to know.

Wouldn't it be great if Dumbledore just showed up here right now, and let me go to the Burrow? Harry thought. _Wouldn't that just be perfect?_

Well, it seemed life wasn't quite that perfect, but it wasn't that bad, either. A flash of flame erupted across from Harry, atop his bed. Harry had wished Dumbledore would come to Privet Drive, and take him away. Well, that was pretty damn close to what _did_ happen; who _did_ show up.

"Fawkes?" Harry said disbelievingly. "What the-"

Harry then realised that Fawkes had not come simply to trill hello. A letter had fallen on the bed next to the great bird. Harry quickly picked it up. It was, _unpredictably_, from Professor Dumbledore.

_

> Harry,
> 
> You may have heard...though I doubt you have. It seems Voldemort has already begun his new plan. I had hoped it may have taken longer...but alas, it has happened.
> 
> The Dementors have revolted. It seems Voldemort is so sure of himself that he has no worry of making his presence known. Of course, it will not be very easy to convince Cornelius that it was indeed Tom who was behind the revolt, so Minerva will continue as Headmistress for now.
> 
> Last summer, as you know, Dolores Umbridge set two Dementors on Privet Drive. You were quite lucky to escape, and your cousin as well. By putting two and two together (which has taken the greater part of the last year) I've realised that the ancient magic that protects you from Voldemort when at Privet Drive does not extend to protect you from Dementors. It is quite likely that Voldemort's first act, while in control of the Dementors, will be to attack your home. You must leave as soon as possible.
> 
> And here lies the good news:
> 
> You will be going to the Burrow. It is the logical move, for you to be taken there, as the more wizards casting Patroni, the greater chance against the Dementors. You could, of course, be taken to headquarters, but there would be a chance only you and Sirius would be there to fight, if the location was compromised in some way -- not that we think it HAS been, or anything like that. Anyway, your best chance is with the Weasleys.
> 
> When you are ready (first, I strongly suggest you pack your things and consider a toothbrush), take a firm hold of Fawkes' tail feathers, and indicate to him that you are all set. He will take you directly to the Burrow. Hopefully, you don't pop up in Mssrs. Fred and George's room...just the type of trick Fawkes would play...oh, well. It is a chance we have no choice but to take...
> 
> Be careful, Harry.
> 
> -- Albus Dumbledore

_

Harry couldn't believe his luck. He was going to the Burrow.

Of course, on second thought, he realised it wasn't exactly _lucky_ to have Dementors about to attack your house...but he could see _Ginny!_

Harry quickly gathered all his things. He took a firm hold of his trunk with one hand, and grasped Fawkes' tail feathers with the other.

"Go on," he told the bird. "I'm ready."

Fawkes didn't do anything, save look at Harry with a much more condescending look that Harry ever thought he'd be getting from a bird.

"What?" Harry asked, impatient to see Ginny again. "Dementors could be coming any minute! I need to get to the Burrow!"

Fawkes lifted a wing in the vague direction of the hallway.

"What, you want me to _walk_? Dumbledore said to take me." Harry was growing more impatient by the minute.

Fawkes nodded his head in the less vague direction of the bathroom. "What?" asked Harry again. The phoenix opened it's beak, and Harry half expected it to explain verbally what he couldn't get across. However, the bird simply looked at Harry, beak wide.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, dropping the feathers and trunk handle. He muttered to himself as he walked out of his bedroom door, "Forgot my toothbrush..."

"There, good as new..." muttered Molly Weasley under her breath. She looked at the table leg shrewdly. "No one will notice a thing."

After Ron had left, no doubt to wander-aimlessly-through-town-until-he-just-_happened_-to-end-up-at-Luna-Lovegood's-house, she had had a great deal of coffee, which brought her back to her normal self. She shook her head. It was always the same; of course, it was much more convenient when the girl in question lived rather near....She could remember that time, when Charlie--

"Hello there, Mum," said Fred -- or George -- coming into the kitchen and immediately going for the cabinet. _No doubt planning on eating that cereal again..._ She still hadn't forgiven her husband, for bringing home "Lucky Charms" or whatever it was called. Neither Fred nor George had eaten her breakfast since. There was, apparently, "no time."

Might as well try...

"Don't you want some eggs?" she asked her son. She realised that for some reason or another, the twin rummaging around in her kitchen cabinet was alone. No brother in sight. _That can't be good._ "Or bacon? You used to love bacon and eggs..."

"No time, Mum. Ah, here it is..." As his arm came out of the cabinet, a suspicious expression formed on his face. "This is empty...who's been eating my cereal?"

She chose not to comment on the fact that it was his _father's_ cereal, despite the fact her husband hadn't gotten a bite of it since the first day. "I don't know...your _brother_, maybe?"

"That helps a _lot_, Mum," he muttered sarcastically. "I bet it was Ron....he's always been a human cavoom cleaner..."

"Vacuum cleaner," she corrected automatically, scowling. She didn't like the idea of vacuum cleaners...they seemed so unnatural. And where did it all go? With magic, everything was perfectly understandable: dirt disappeared. Muggles can't do that, make things disappear. It probably ended up on your shoes. "And Ron didn't eat a thing this morning."

"Of course he didn't. He never eats while he sleeps. And he never sleeps while he eats. Those are the only times he isn't doing one or the other." The twin -- Molly thought it was George now -- was heading over to the stairs. "Ronniekins! You got some 'splaining to do!"

"He's not up there," she told him. "Like I said, he didn't eat anything this morning. He went out for a 'walk.'"

George -- she would think of him as George and not doubt herself another time! -- turned around to face his mother. Despite him being one of the shorter Weasleys, he still was a good foot over Molly. _I'm _tiny_, aren't I? When did this happen?_

"You said 'walk' as if there were quotation marks around it...that would mean that you don't actually think he just went for a early morning stroll..." George had a dubious look in his eye. "Where did he go?"

Merlin, he's perceptive... "Now, that is none of your business, George--"

"Fred."

Damn. "Now, that is none of your business, Fred. If Ron goes for a 'walk,' if he goes for a 'run' or if he goes for a 'ten-mile-hike,' it doesn't matter." She tried to put a stern expression on her face, but she got the feeling she wasn't up to her usual sabre-toothed-tiger self. He noticed, and didn't back down.

"Or, perhaps, _who_ did he go _see?_"

Where did he get this perceptiveness from? Oh, yes. Me.

"That also is none of your business--"

"Aha! So he _did_ see someone!"

"George!" He opened his mouth. "Oh, right, _Fred_...." She paused, and gathered herself. "Fred! Mind your own business!"

"It must be a girl..." he muttered, ignoring his mother. "I doubt Ron would leave this early to visit, say, Neville Longbottom. Must be...Hermione!"

"No, it is not Hermione, and that is all I am going to say." Molly walked over to the stove and started magically cooking some eggs.

"Fine! _Be_ that way. Humph! That's the last time I try to get _you_ to spill some information!"

Please don't be joking...

Fred just looked at his mother, miffed, for a minute or two. Small _clinks_ sounded when his mother retrieved a plate from the cabinet. He didn't even realise what was happening, as a plate of eggs -- sunny-side up -- was forced into his hands.

"Hey!" He glared at his mother.

"Well, you're not about to waste _my food_, are you?" she asked, sabre-toothed-tiger face working its wonders once again.

"Oh, fine. I need to get to the shop early, though," he grumbled, opening a drawer and pulling out a fork. He then seemed to remember something. "Hey, if Ron didn't eat anything, then he didn't eat my cereal."

"Very insightful of you."

"No, I mean, someone _else_ had to have eaten it..."

Fred swallowed a mouthful of egg. "Then it must have been...GINNY!"

"Don't be silly. _She's_ still asleep."

"Not a chance. She may have everyone else fooled, but _I_ happen to know that my little sister always wakes up early, and is just too _lazy_ to get up!"

Molly looked at her son, exasperated. Not only was he not finishing the egg that he left on the table, but he wasn't nearly as perceptive as he had seemed just five minutes ago. Now, he seemed a great deal more like Ron. "_Then how would she eat your cereal!_" she called after him, but he didn't even hear.

"_...that was 'I Want To Hold Your Hand' by the Beatles, though I doubt any of our listeners _really_ needed to be told that bit of information...next up, 'Eleanor Rigby' which is by -- would you look at that, the Beatles, once again..."_

"Ugh. I _hate _that song..." Ginny muttered, finally sitting up in bed. When her father had brought home the Muggle wireless -- a gift for his only child that seemed interested in Muggle eckeltronics -- he had told her that he couldn't figure out how to turn off the alarm. Of course, Ginny most definitely hadn't a clue as to how to disable it. _If only I could use magic..._ She didn't exactly use the wireless much, but she kept it so not to hurt her Dad's feelings. Perhaps it was _good_, that she couldn't use magic out of school. Otherwise, the little box would long ago have fallen victim to the Reductor Curse.

So, at precisely six fifty-eight, every morning, the wireless turned on. Always to the same station, which seemed to play nothing, save the Beatles. _And the damn announcer _always_ acts surprised..._ Of course, Ginny never got up with the alarm. When she could help it, she never got up early.

She smiled, remembering the incident in nineteen seventy-eight... She frowned, remembering the water. _That was _cold!_ And the water wasn't that nice, either._

It didn't help her frowning, that she missed _him_ so much. It seemed so much longer than two weeks, since Harry and Ginny had parted ways at King's Cross. She couldn't believe she hadn't even gotten a chance to watch _The Wizard of Oz_ yet.... Of course, she doubted she would, even if she had the chance, unless Harry was there. It just wouldn't be the same.

"...all the lonely people...where do they all come from...all the lonely people...where do they all belong..."

Eleanor Rigby, Ginny thought_, knows _nothing_ about loneliness. Neither does Father Mackenzie, or anyone else._

She had gotten to know each and every (at least, she _thought_ so) Beatles song quite well over the previous fortnight. _Eleanor Rigby_ had to be the one she hated most. It was just...creepy. _Wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave?_ Ginny shivered. It was most definitely creepy.

Ginny pushed the little button that turned off the music. She _really _needed to figure out how to turn off the _alarm_. She might just go insane, if she didn't.

She leaned back, preparing to nod off for another hour or so. However, as Fate would have it, she didn't fall back to sleep. Someone _else_ did _fall_ however. Right atop her, as a matter of fact.

"Harry!" she exclaimed. "Where did you come from?"

Harry hardly had a chance to realise that he had fallen on top of his girlfriend, when a _slam _told them the door had opened, and crashed into the wall behind it. Both their heads snapped to the doorway.

A shocked Fred -- or was it George? -- Weasley stood, staring at them. Of course, it was a sight to be staring at: Harry Potter atop his youngest (and only) sister, who wore only a pair of pyjamas that were far too big for her, having been handed down from sibling to sibling. Harry promptly toppled off the bed, landing with a muffled thud on the covers that Ginny had apparently knocked off in her sleep.

"Bloody hell!" George exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing!" shouted Ginny. "Ever heard of _knocking_?"

This didn't seem to help. Now not one, but _two_ twins were standing in the doorway.

"Harry, you can _Apparate_?" asked the other twin, gritting his teeth. "For your sake, I sure hope you can..."

"What?" asked Harry, popping up on the other side of the bed, and looking worriedly at the twins.

"Because _we_ can Apparate, and there's no way you'll be able to outrun us..."

"You are _so _dead, Potter..."

"HOLD IT!" two female voices screamed at the tops of their lungs. One, of course, was Ginny, who had jumped from the bed and was now looking like _she_ wanted to kill the twins. The other was Mrs Weasley, who had apparently run up the stairs at the sound of the first scream.

"George, you are _not_ killing Harry. You either, Fred." She turned to Ginny. "Ginny, you may _not_ kill your brothers."

"They didn't even knock! They just barged in!" yelled Ginny.

"He was on top of her--"

"--and if we hadn't shown up in the nick of time--"

"--there's no telling what would have happened!" the twins finished together, as was their style.

"Er..." was the only thing Harry could say. He had been in some peculiar situations over the years, but this had to be at the top of the list...

"First of all," said Mrs Weasley, standing between Ginny and the twins, as if a referee at a duel. No, not a duel to the death, or an actual duel with people trying to hurt each other; but like in a duelling tournament. People _don't_ stand between people in the other kind of duel; it just wouldn't be wise. "What have you been told about barging into your sister's room? Day after day, we tell you, and it just goes in one ear, out the other, in another ear, out the last. Knock!

"Second," she turned to Ginny, "you do not kill your brothers without my permission."

She turned to Harry. "And third, what in Merlin's name are you _doing_ here, Harry?"

Harry swallowed, and began to tell his story. "You see, I woke up this morning, and got this letter from Dumbledore. Fawkes delivered it--" Harry stopped, realising for the first time that the Phoenix had disappeared, "and it said that I had to come to the Burrow, right away. Fawkes took me. Fawkes must have missed his target or something, and I ended up here. That can happen, right? I mean, people can mess up when Apparating, so can Phoenixes?"

"He's not even sure of his story!" cried out one of the twins. "I say he's lying!"

"And _I _say his story makes perfect sense, and are you hungry Harry?" Mrs Weasley asked Harry nicely.

"Er, not really."

"Are you sure?" she said, wishing he would change his mind. "What about you, Ginny? I can make eggs..."

**_Author's Note   
_**The next chapter will likely not be up until 18 June.

I have a short story that I've been playing around with,  
and it'll be taking up my time for a while. It should be up in a few days.  
  
**_Next Chapter   
Every Picture Tells a Story _**

**__**

**__**"Nothing is really work unless you would rather be doing something else."  
Sir James M. Barrie 

**_Coming Soon _**


	5. Every Picture Tells a Story

Believe in Yesterday  


_Potter47 _

__

_**Part One   
Old Friends**_

**__**

__"Nothing is really work unless you would rather be doing something else."  
Sir James M. Barrie 

**_Chapter Four   
Every Picture Tells a Story_**

"Bloody hell."

As Ron emerged into the attic, he saw that it was much bigger than he had first anticipated. It seemed someone had magically enlarged it, so that it would fit more...junk. He remembered, at the end of last year, Luna had said that her father had begun work on the cleaning of the attic. And Luna had been working since the end of term. But it was still the most..._cluttered_...attic he had ever seen in his life.

Boxes on boxes on boxes on loose stuff filled the entire room. He hadn't a clue, how some of the boxes balanced, and he thought it would have been a much better thought to put the loose stuff _on top_. But, alas, that wasn't how it was done.

"Luna," he said, "by _cleaning,_ you mean...neatening it all up a bit, right? You don't mean--"

"No, we need to go through it all. That's why it's taking so long. Otherwise, Dad could've just magicked it all neat. Not that he'd _do_ that, as he tends to prefer the Muggle way. No, we need to sort it out; what to keep, and what to get rid of."

Right, thought Ron. _That wasn't what I was afraid of! No!_

She shook her head. "How does he expect me to throw any of this stuff away?" She picked up a stuffed...something, and stroked it's head affectionately. Ron assumed it was supposed to be a Snorkack. It seemed as though someone had just opened the pull down ladder-stair-thing and tossed it up there, from the way it had been on the floor. "This is my childhood. _Our _childhood."

I don't know...some of these things probably could be thrown away...like that thing over there-- no way_!_ Ron had just spotted, in one of the over-stuffed boxes, something he thought he would never see again. He had wondered where she had gone, for years. Apparently, he had left her at Luna's house one of the times he had come over.

"Luna, look at that!" he said, exited, pointing.

Luna looked up, and followed his finger. "Is that...Chessy?" she said, wider-than-usual-eyed. "She's been here, all this time? If I'd known, I would of given her back..."

Chessy was, basically, a chess set for toddlers. She taught little wizards and witches how to play. All the pieces had a little smiling face on them, and they told whoever was playing -- _Chessy_ was nice to _everyone_ -- the best move to make. Despite the fact that Ron had quickly outgrown her, and didn't need the help for very long, he had always felt sentimental about Chessy. He had thought Fred or George had done something to her. He'd have to apologise for that...er..._thing_ he did to them.

"I am so sorry we kept that all this time..." said Luna. "That's the kind of thing you should cherish. It shouldn't be stuffed in someone else's attic...Bring her down, she's probably suffocating in that box."

Despite knowing quite well that chess sets can't suffocate, and also knowing that if a chess set _could_ suffocate, it would have done it long before now, Ron moved so quick to get Chessy down, it was as if it was a matter of life or death.

"Ronnie--"_cough,_"--kins!" exclaimed the big, smiling face that adorned Chessy's box. "It's been _so_ long! I thought I'd never see you again...Oh, you're so _grown-up!_"

"It's good to see you again too, Chessy," said Ron, smiling at the box he held in his hands. Her eyes looked around, being able to _see_ for the first time in years.

"My Queen!" she exclaimed when she spotted Luna. "I know, you're not _technically _my queen, as both of them are safe in my tummy, but you just..._look_ like a queen. And doesn't it have a ring to it, 'Queen Luna?'"

Luna had a rather peculiar look on her face, as she said, "Yes, I think it does have a bit of a nice sound to it....Of course, I'll never be queen of anything, unless I get trapped in a giant chess set or something like that, and have to play my way out. _Then_, I'd _definitely_ be a queen. So much better a piece, than a bishop, or a rook."

Chessy seemed delighted that the talk had turned to chess. It was, of course, her specialty. "Don't let them know I said this," she whispered, so that the pieces within her couldn't hear, "as I'm not supposed to show favouritism. But _I_ like the queens best as well. So much more you can do....So many more moves you can make....

"How 'bout a game?" Chessy asked hopefully. "For old times' sake?"

"Oh, we'd _love _to," said Luna, "but we have to clean out the whole attic..."

"But you hate cleaning!" said Chessy, horrified, remembering. "That's dreadful!"

"Maybe we could play later?" said Ron, wishing he could just sit down right on the attic floor, and play. "There's a lot to go through up here..."

Chessy frowned. "Yes, I suppose that's alright. But _please_, don't forget! I want to see how much you've learned. Can Luna still--" Chessy stopped talking, and her box tipped back in Ron's hands. Her painted-on black nose scrunched up, and she nearly toppled out of his grip. "A-a-a-_choo!_" she sneezed. "Oh, this attic is just horrible. You're right, it does need a good cleaning...I'd love to lend a hand, but, of course, I've none to lend. Would you like a pawn?"

"No thank you," said Luna, treating the suggestion with utmost seriousness. "I don't think it would help all that much..."

"No, I suppose not..." She looked hopefully at Ron. "Would you mind terribly to put me downstairs, maybe by a window? It's been so long since I've been able to breathe properly...honestly, you've no idea how many times I've wanted to throw a bishop at whoever said, 'Ooh, let's give Chessy a _nose!_' I mean, _really! _Why do I need a nose?" Her eyes tried, fruitlessly, to glare at her two-dimensional nose. "It's got no purpose, 'cept to give me allergies. I can't _smell_, or anything like that...."

"Sure," said Ron. "I'll take you downstairs. Luna, where would be a good place?"

"How about the back porch, Chessy? There's always a nice breeze out there." She looked at the chess set curiously. "You really can't smell? Not a thing? Oh, now _that's_ dreadful."

"Isn't it?" Chessy sniffled. "And another thing; I don't have any bogeys! So why do I keep sniffling? _What_ am I sniffling? If I had hands, I'd write a serious complaint to the GWC Workshop as soon as I could. They don't have a _clue_ what it's like to _live_ as a chess set..."

"_...that was 'Eleanor Rigby,' by -- guess who? Right! The Beatles! And next up is, would you look at that... 'Yellow Submarine' by the Volkswagens! No, it's actually the Beatles, for you three clueless listeners who don't know who sung 'Yellow Submarine'. It was just a joke..._"

"I love this one!" exclaimed London Lovegood, to the Muggle broom in his hands. "There was also a film," he informed the inanimate object, who was a very good listener. "I've never seen it..."

Just as he dipped the broom, the sound of rather large feet echoed down the steps. London looked up to see Ron Weasley carrying a box -- with a sniffling face -- toward the back of the house.

"Ronnie, where are you going?" He hoped the boy didn't mind being called _Ronnie._ Oh, well. He liked the name.

Ron stopped in mid-step, and turned around to face the man who was leaning over a Muggle broomstick, foot tapping to a...rather odd...song.

"Er, I'm just putting Chessy here out on the porch." He held up the box. "For some fresh air, you know. We found her up in a box in the attic."

"Chessy?" asked London curiously. "Not your first _chess_ set...we've had her all this time? In a _box_, no less? How cruel. Well, apologise for me, will you?"

"I'm right _here_," said Chessy. "You can apologise yourself!" She hadn't really liked London all that much, ever since he'd stepped on her black, queen-side castle. It also didn't help that he had kept her trapped in an attic for several years. Of course, if he ever _played_ -- which he hadn't done for many a year; and he'd never beaten Ron -- she had to be perfectly nice to him. It was in her satisfaction guarantee.

"I apologise, dear Chessy," he said courteously. "And I did apologise for that caniget, correct?"

"It was a rook!" exclaimed Chessy, with vigour she would not dare use during a match (or around one, for she was always quite flammable). "And it is pronounced 'night.'" But London would never change.

"Take me outside, Ronniekins, if you _don't_ mind." She turned up her two-dimensional nose.

"Alright, Chessy. See you later, Mr Lovegood."

"You too, Ronnie."

London shook his head after the two of them. What had he done wrong?

He realised that, in the conversation with Ron and Chessy, he had completely missed the opportunity to sing along with "Yellow Submarine." Some other, not-so-well-known Beatles song was playing now, and he danced along without much enthusiasm. He hated it when people weren't nice. _The world would be a lot better, if everyone would just get along..._

He looked over at the mantle, where framed pictures stood, smiling and waving and dancing and laughing. One in particular, had a particularly bright smile. _The world would be a lot better if _she_ was still here..._

He heard a call down the stairs. "Ronald, you'll never guess what I've found!"

"No, I probably won't! What is it?" called Ron back, trotting back up the stairs.

But London couldn't hear the reply. Either Luna had lowered her voice, or he had just blocked it out. Come to think of it, he couldn't really hear the music either. His face quirked into a smile, after Ron had left. _But the world can't be too bad the way it is,_ he thought._ If fate wanted it to happen this way, than so be it. Luna seems happy. _He realised that tears had begun to stream down his face, and he was leaning on the broom for support. _Yes, Luna seems happy. And she's cleaning! _He never thought he'd see the day, when Luna was happy to be cleaning. He remembered when she was little, always trying to get out of cleaning her room.

But she's not little now, he thought. _And she has help. _Thinking of Ron...how he had seemed just to pop back into existence that morning, he realised that maybe..._just maybe..._there was a chance the world _hadn't_ turned in on itself. That maybe..._just maybe_...everything _was_ how it was supposed to be. _I hope Luna realises how lucky she is..._

The world seemed to come back into focus, and he could hear the music once again. He smiled at the stairs, one last time.

Yes, the world is just fine, how it is.

Ron emerged into the attic, wondering what Luna could have found. He knew he had no possible chance in a thousand years to _guess_. The attic was filled to the brim and more with boxes, and it wasn't as if _he'd_ packed them. How was he to know?

"What'd you find?" he asked Luna. She held a book in her hands, with a handsome navy cover. She held it out to him, grinning. He took it, and saw that the cover also showed a picture of a crescent moon, smiling at two little children. Hermione would probably say something like, "_If the moon is that big, the children shouldn't be visible. Like that, it looks as if they just levitated a giant banana or something..._" But Ron, at that moment, didn't particularly care.

This isn't...no, it couldn't be....

He opened the front cover. In a neat script that would be entirely impossible for any child to read, was a note inscribed on the inside of the cover. He recognised it, despite not having been able to read at the last opportunity he'd had to look at it.

_

> To my little Queen,
> 
> I know this is silly of me, and you'll probably laugh hysterically once you are able to read it. I mean, who writes a note in a photo album? Usually, parents write in STORY books, and such. But I couldn't resist. The inside cover was MUCH too blank. Of course, the rest is blank as well, but that's for PICTURES, not WRITING! Hopefully, your father lets me develop them the magic way...oh, well.
> 
> I won't be mad if you hate this...what little girl wants a PHOTO ALBUM, for a present, anyway? But I made it myself (the Muggle way!), and I do hope it's not too terrible.
> 
> All the love in the world,
> 
> Mum

_

When he finished reading, he held the photo album out to Luna for her to take. He received a confuzzled look in return.

"Aren't you going to look in it?" she asked him. "Do you _normally_ just look at the inside-cover of photo albums?"

"Oh, right," he said, realising Luna probably hadn't intended for him to simply read the note. He opened the book once again, and turned to the first real page. He noticed that when holding a rather large book, it wasn't all that convenient to be standing up. He sat down on a not-so-dusty portion of the floor and leaned against one of the sturdier looking stacks of boxes. Luna moved to look over his shoulder.

The first picture was of Luna (surprisingly). She was sitting down, legs crossed, with a magazine open in front of her. It was (also surprisingly) a now-quite-old edition of the _Quibbler_. She looked at the pages seriously, as if trying to decipher the meaning of the universe from within it. Of course, she was very small, and couldn't read. So maybe she did indeed believe the meaning of the universe was written in the _Quibbler_. Ron shivered. _I sure hope not... _It seemed Luna's mother had indeed developed the photos magically, as every now and then, Luna-in-the-picture would turn a page, and squint at the new letters.

"Next," said Luna-out-of-the-picture.

Ron turned the page. The next picture was also of Luna, but she was with her father. She sat atop his shoulders, smiling and laughing, holding on to his hands and balancing. Luna (out of the picture) also smiled, and said, "I miss that. He always used to do that. Next."

Ron flipped once again, and as soon as he did, he wished he didn't. _Someone took a _picture_ of this?! _he mentally screamed. _How could they?!_

For in this particular picture, Ron and Luna were both in the Lovegood living room, with a young Ginny laying on the couch. This wouldn't have been bad at all, had it not have been for the associated memories.

"Oh, this is that time we played _house_," said Luna, smiling with recollection. "And you--"

"You don't have to mention it again," Ron said, ears redder than Luna's (and she had the advantage, with scarlet vegetables dangling from hers). "You just did, not a month ago. I don't particularly want to hear it again. And we both know what you are going to say, so there's no need for it to be said. Can I burn this?"

"Of course," she agreed agreeably, "right after I send a copy to Hermione--"

"NO!"

"I'm _joking,_ Ron--" Luna paused a beat before adding, "--ald."

They looked at the picture, silent, for a minute or two. Ron hadn't remembered that Luna's mother had had her camera out that fateful day. He also didn't remember the picture when he had looked at the album years ago. Of course, the key phrase would be _years ago,_ and Ron wasn't known for his memory (though he wasn't as bad as Neville, of course).

"Next," said Luna again, after the aforementioned minute or two.

Ron turned the page. "Oh, I remember this," Luna said, smiling.

The photograph was cramped, with eleven witches and wizards and a rather large Christmas tree within its frame. Eight redheads, two blonds, and a dark-haired man. It had been taken...well, years ago.

Lined up by age, oldest in the back, youngest in the front, were the Lovegoods and Weasleys (save Ron's mum, who was behind the camera, unwilling to show her spot in the order). In the middle, the twins could be seen switching spots every few moments, arguing about who had to be next to Percy. At the bottom sat Ron, Luna, and Ginny, smiling at the camera and holding presents. Ginny was holding a picture book -- The Boy Who Lived (Children's Edition). Luna was holding this very book, with the bright crescent moon on the blue cover. And Ron was holding a plaque that read, RONALD'S ROOM.

This was of course, not his only present. The adults had said to pick "your very favourite" present. Luna had made it herself, and she had one on her door as well. Her father had, apparently, let her inscribe them with his wand. She had been six at the time, and him seven. Percy in particular had been _outraged_ when she had told them she'd "made it herself."

"Do you still have that on your door?" Luna asked him, squinting down at the picture.

"Yeah," he said. He didn't feel like going into the details of the time when he had almost taken it off. It had been the summer before fourth year, when he was at the peak of his crush on Hermione (and she had been at the Burrow). Every time he looked at his door, he had been embarrassed; even more so when _she_ had looked at his door, despite his knowing perfectly well she had no idea the history of the simple little plaque.

"Next," said Luna after awhile. He turned.

If he hadn't known better, Ron would've thought the picture on the next page had been taken very recently. None of the pictures were recent. This looked like it was even older than the others; as if it had just been placed in the album. In fact, it had; Ron could see the edges of another picture, (one of Luna's father holding an issue of the _Quibbler_ proudly), behind it. This seemed to have been stuck in.

"That's Mum..." Luna said oddly. "When she was young. It's funny, I've never seen this picture before..."

Ron looked from the picture in the book to Luna, who was at his right. "You look just like her," he said. "But...you _didn't_ look just like your mum. Not when we were little, anyway."

"It's the hair," she said, gesturing with a bit of her own between her fingers. "When she was my age, she had my colour hair, but then it got lighter for some reason. I always liked hers better. It got straighter, as well. Not straggly like this." She let a hair fall from her hand at a time, until she was holding nothing but air. "Hopefully, mine ends up like that as well."

"What?" Ron looked at her shrewdly. "I like your hair," he said without thinking.

Luna did something rather unusual. Well, for her anyway. She blinked. "What did you say?"

"What, 'What?'" he said, hoping she had indeed wondered if he had said 'what.' It would be much better. Better for what? Oh, nothing in particular. Just _better_.

"No," she said, crushing his hopes. "The other part."

"Oh, nothing," said Ron, oddly high-pitched. "Not at thing. You know, we'll never get anywhere in cleaning this place if we sit around looking at picture books...How about I start over there," he pointed, "and you start over there?" He pointed in the other direction.

Without waiting for an answer, he set off toward his indicated corner of the attic. Luna shook her head after him, a slight smile appearing on her face. Not nearly loud enough for him to hear, she said, "Whatever you say, Ronald."

**_Author's Note _**

**__**

**__**First of all, I apologize for the delay between chapters. The idea for the short story -- "Happily Ever After" -- was something I had to write right away. You haven't read it? Well, what are you waiting for? You've finished this chapter, so there's absolutely nothing to stop you from clicking on my name and finding it in my profile. 

(Except, of course, reviewing; something you should be sure to do. It's not hard at all, really; it'll only take a minute.) 

Also, I'm sorry to say, the next chapter -- "To See the Wizard," as you can see below, -- will not be out for another week. I'm rather stuck at the moment and I don't want to get behind. On second thought, it would be rather fun to have the chapters go up before I even needed to write them...oh, well. 

**_Next Chapter   
To See the Wizard _**

**__**

**__**"Now, Dorothy, dear, stop _imagining_ things.  
You always get yourself into a fret over nothing." 

**_Coming Soon _**


	6. To See the Wizard

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47** Part One   
Old Friends**_ "Now, Dorothy, dear, stop _imagining_ things.  
You always get yourself into a fret over nothing. "**_ Chapter Five   
To See the Wizard _**

As Harry sat down at the kitchen table, both of the twins were still intently glaring at him, from the opposite chairs. Ginny was sitting next to Harry, looking at her brothers in a not-all-that-nice way. And Mrs Weasley was bustling around the kitchen, whistling a tune and cooking what seemed to be seven different meals, despite the lack-of-seven-different-people. One of the twins was grudgingly finishing a plate of eggs that had been already on the table when they came down.

"So, here are your eggs, Harry," said Mrs Weasley, placing the plate in front of him. "And yours, Ginny," she said, putting the next plate down as well.

"But I said I--" Harry was clearly going to say _"wasn't hungry,"_ but stopped at the look on Mrs Weasley's face. "Er...thank you Mrs Weasley."

"You're very welcome, Harry," she replied, smiling at him.

"What about me?" asked the non-fed twin. "Do I have to get _all the way up_ to make _myself_ a bowl of cereal? Have you no thoughts of my _feelings?_ How could you leave out your favourite son...." He looked close to tears.

"For that attitude," Mrs Weasley said menacingly, "I _won't_ make your breakfast. And you don't _deserve_ a proper meal after how you treated Harry. Who do you think he is? You're lucky I don't let Ginny have her way, or you'd be deader than a hobbit."

What? You've never heard the expression _deader than a hobbit _before? Merlin's beard, I thought everyone knew the legend! You see, hobbits (according to wizarding myth) died out a long, long time ago, and have since become figures of fairy-tales, bedtime-stories, and, as you can see, death threats. It is universally agreed that there is not a single hobbit left on the face of the earth, which is how the phrase originated. It wasn't all that nice of a thing to say, however, and it wasn't something Molly Weasley routinely said to her children -- her use of it in this instance basically meant that she was _mad_ at her son.

Said son, however, was smirking smugly, as his mother had just unknowingly been hoodwinked (as if you could knowingly be hoodwinked). She thought he actually wanted the eggs. Ha! He just happened to be the only one who had escaped his mother's breakfast (not that it wasn't tasty -- he just felt defiant).

But, alas, the joke was on him. As he reached into the cabinet to pull out his "Lucky Charms" cereal, his sister's voice interrupted his gloating thoughts. "Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. I finished Dad's cereal last night. I s'pose you'll just have to eat those eggs Mum just finished cooking..."

__

Damn it.

Arthur Weasley was happy.

He was, in fact, happier than he thought a man could be, when his entire family was in danger, being prime targets of the world's most evil wizard. He was happier than he had been in quite a while. In fact, as his day at the Ministry wound down, he found himself whistling a tune.

Arthur Weasley didn't always like his workday. He loved his job, of course, but the hours could be a wee bit crazy. Often, during the summer mostly, he found himself working throughout the night, and returning to the Burrow only in time for breakfast. Hopefully, Molly would let him have his Muggle cereal today. _Of course, the twins may have already finished it..._

But today, he _loved_ his workday. It meant that Ginny wouldn't have to wait another whole day. He'd finally been able to get it! It was safe in the Muggle backpack he had packed it in.

Taking out his wand, he muttered "_Iterius!_" After the familiar jolt, he found himself outside his kitchen door.

Upon entering the Burrow, he realised that, first and foremost, his cereal was not being eaten at the moment. _Yay!_ Secondly, however, he noticed something that was just as unexpected.

"Harry! Merlin, what are you doing here?"

"Uwuore ed at--" said Harry, through a mouthful of eggs. He swallowed. "Dumbledore said that I wasn't safe at Privet Drive. Fawkes took me here."

__

Not safe at Privet Drive? But what about...

"What do you mean--oh, thank you Molly--what do you mean you weren't safe? Dumbledore's always said that it was the _only_ place you were safe." He began to munch on the toast his wife had just pushed into his hands.

"Dementors," said Harry.

Ginny, who was eyeing the bag on her father's back suspiciously, repeated what Harry had told them. "Dumbledore said that Harry wasn't safe from Dementors." She looked at Harry confusedly. "But the Dementors are at Azkaban. How would they get to you? Last year was only because of Umbridge--"

"You haven't heard?" Harry cut her off. He turned his gaze to her father. "I'd thought you would be the first to know, being so close to Dumbledore."

He looked guilty. "Well, _I _knew. But I thought I'd wait to tell everyone." He looked over his shoulder a bit. "There's something I wanted to--"

"Tell us _what_, Dad?" asked one of the twins.

"Yeah, you've been holding out on us?" said the other. "We're Order members now!"

"Er...well, I _just_ found out. I couldn't have said anything yet. I'm just now seeing you. I've been at work all night--"

"Tell us _what_, Arthur?" said Molly impatiently.

"The Dementors have revolted," said Harry.

The eyes of everyone in the room -- save Errol, who was perched miserably on his perch in the corner, and did indeed need to be saved -- turned around from Arthur to Harry.

"Revolted?" said Molly weakly. "As in, _rebelled?_ I sincerely hope you mean something else...I've always been _revolted _by Dementors, but to have the Dementors _revolt_..."

"Yes," said Arthur. "They _have_ rebelled. And now I understand exactly why Harry is here."

The twins looked at each other for a moment. "Er," said one. "We've got to get to the shop," he said, voice lacking the usual humour. "Breakfast was great, Mum." He got up out of his seat, to be followed by his brother. "See you later."

"Be careful," said their mother softly, as they went through the kitchen door.

"Well," said Arthur, finally sitting down. "There is some good news today." He smiled at his daughter. "Guess what I was finally able to get?"

A look of horror came over her face. "Oh, please tell me you didn't get that doll I asked for when I was four--"

"What doll?" asked Harry curiously.

"_Nothing_," said Ginny hurriedly. She looked pleadingly at her father, as if begging her nightmare wasn't true.

"Doll?" said her father confusedly. He glanced at Harry. A look of recollection came over his face. "Oh, _that _doll....No, that's not it. I forgot about that years ago." He grinned at her, and added, "Thanks for reminding me. I'll pick it up for you sometime."

"NO!"

"Just _joking_, little Gin. I would _never_ embarrass you like that." Ginny's face showed that she was not quite so sure. But he didn't comment on that. "Well, any more guesses?"

"Could I guess?" asked Harry suddenly.

"Sure," said Mr Weasley, obviously pleased that the conversation had taken such a brighter turn.

Harry was obviously very confident in his guess. "Something _Muggle?_" he ventured.

"Correct!" said Mr Weasley. "Care to be a bit more specific?"

"No," said Harry. "I just was sure it was something Muggle."

"Wait a minute..." said Ginny. "You didn't get the--" she paused, trying to get the correct letters. "RVC?"

"No, I didn't. I got the _V-C-R_."

"Same thing!" she said happily. "You really got it? Finally!"

"What's with this fascination in Muggle things, Ginny?" asked her mother.

"Oh, she got a _movie_," said Arthur, "and she wants to watch it."

Harry suddenly seemed to realise what they were talking about, and promptly turned red. Only Ginny seemed to notice, thankfully.

"But why not get a _movie-watcher?_" asked his wife. "How can a bunch of letters let you watch a movie?"

Arthur pulled his bag from his back. From out of it, as if by magic, came an object much larger than the bag itself. Oh, right; it _was _magic. He'd charmed the bag. The object was a black rectangle, with a slot on one side, and a bunch of buttons.

"It connects to the veletision, which I'll bring in from my shed. It might take a minute or two, of course. But you'll be able to watch your movie before the day is done."

As Arthur could see in her eyes, Ginny was very happy. He still wondered just _how_ she'd come by a Muggle tape. They didn't normally pop up at Hogwarts, you see. He dismissed the thought, reckoning that Hermione must have leant it to her. Yes, that made sense.

"So what are you waiting for?" asked Ginny eagerly. "Go do it!"

"Let your father eat," said Molly. "If you're both done, why don't you and Harry go out in the living room and do...whatever it is that you do when waiting for your father to put together a Muggle...something. You could talk, I suppose."

And so, they left Mr and Mrs Weasley to their own devices, and sat down on the living room sofa. Next to each other, naturally.

There was a almost awkward quiet, for a minute or two, until Harry broke the silence.

"How've you been?" he asked.

"Dreadful," she said truthfully. "I haven't had a good night sleep in weeks."

"Me neither," he said gloomily, looking at his feet.

Once again, no one said a thing for a while. Harry continued to mentally interrogate his sneakers, while Ginny simply looked at him. _He looks so...sad_, she thought. _But why? There's no reason to be._

"Well, you're here now, Harry," she said ardently. "There's no point to moping around. You were fine a couple minutes ago," she pointed out.

"Well, I just..." he started, before looking up at her and starting again. "I just hate this."

"What? Hate what?"

"_This!_" he threw his arms up in exasperation. "The Dementors, Voldemort, the stupid prophecy. People are _dying_, Ginny. And I'm sitting here, waiting to watch the _Wizard of Oz_." He stood up again, and began to pace. "If I'm supposed to be this _one with the power_, don't you think I should be doing something? I should have just left Privet Drive...Maybe I could've taken the fight to _him_. Maybe I could just _end _this. Better than waste time."

Ginny had stood up as well. Harry was being stubborn again; it was her job to solve things. "Harry, you know it's not that simple. He'd kill you the second your foot hits the street." She stood right in front of him, and the pacing stopped. "And are you _forgetting_ how exactly your supposed to kill him?"

"No, I'm not _forgetting_. I don't even know. If I _knew,_ than I wouldn't be _here_ would I?"

He turned, as if to continue pacing in the other direction. She put her hands on his shoulders, to stop him. "Harry, if you ever are going to beat him, you need to _believe_." Her voice, which had begun just as vigorous as his, had softened, and she had stepped closer. "Believe that you can. Don't forget that he hasn't been able to get to you get. And don't forget what that power is either."

Harry's eyes, which had been blazing, almost red, had returned to their usual green colour. "Power?"

"Love, remember?" she said, moving still closer, and letting her arms move up to his neck.

"Oh, right. That." She kissed him.

Actually, that's not exactly the right way to phrase that. Sure, she _did_ kiss him, but he was doing an equal bit of kissing himself. Perhaps, _they kissed each other_ would have been more accurate. But, however how you slice it, the job was done. Voldemort was definitely the last thing on Harry's mind now.

"You know, these eggs really are excellent," said Arthur thoughtfully, chewing. "Better than usual, even."

"Yes, yes, thank you. Now _shhh!_" Molly shushed her husband, who was really quite distracting. Couldn't he see she was busy? This was important!

"What are you _doing_, anyway, Molly?" he asked curiously, crunching a slice of bacon in his mouth.

"Watching. You'll never believe what just happened..."

"What?" he said. "Watching what?"

"Our daughter is snogging the Boy Who Lived," she informed him happily.

"What?" he said, sure that he had misheard. "I could've sworn you said _snogging._" Not only was the idea quite laughable, but that wasn't the kind of word you would hear Molly Weasley say just any day. It just didn't sound right, to hear _snogging _issue forth from her mouth. Maybe from Molly _Prewett._ Before she was a mother, Molly wasn't nearly as...motherly. Obviously.

"No, you didn't mishear," she said smugly. "And it doesn't exactly seem like they're new to this...but why keep it a _secret_?"

"What?" said Arthur again. He put down his fork and stood up. He walked to the door, where Molly was peering out through a slightly-pulled-back curtain. "They're _snogging?_"

Indeed. Arthur's jaw dropped.

"Hmm," said Molly. "When I said 'do whatever it is that you do when waiting for your father to put something together' I didn't mean _this!_"

"Th-they _are. _When did that happen? I never would've thought..."

"Oh, I did," said Molly, not taking her eyes off the couple. "I've suspected that for years. Ever since the Chamber. After this past year, though, I knew it was only a matter of time..."

"Well, I always reckoned she fancied _him_ a bit, but I didn't think it was _mutual_." He, too, could not look away from the pair. "We'd better stop them..."

He reached down for the doorknob. Molly caught his wrist.

"And let them know we've been _watching?!_" she demanded, furious. "Honestly, if there's one thing you _don't do _toa teenage girl_,_ it's infringing on her privacy. She won't forgive you until you're older than Albus."

"But we can't just _sit here!_" he said. "What am I supposed to do, just _watch?_"

"No, Arthur," she said pushing him away from the door. "_I'll _watch. If things get out of hand, I'll do something. Now go get that veletision."

"Yes..." he said, craning his neck to get a glimpse of the next room. "I suppose I should."

He made no move for the door.

"Then _go!_"

"Oh, right, right." And he went. Molly, of course, went right back to her post at the door.

"But why keep it a secret?" she said, to no-one-in-particular. It just didn't make sense.

It didn't take too long for Arthur Weasley to get the veletision from the shed. It wasn't a large one; just about half-a-metre cross the top. When he looked at the back, he could see there was a cord attached to one of the little circley-things. He assumed it was the one to connect the VCR (hoped, more like).

He brought it in through the kitchen, the way he went out, so as to avoid any...undesirable confrontations. He didn't know where he was going to put the set, if Harry and Ginny were still in the living room, doing _things._

__

Harry and Ginny. He couldn't seem to fathom the idea of the two actually...together. _Little Gin and the Boy Who Lived._ He remembered when Ginny was little, he had bought her a Harry Potter storybook. She had become obsessed with the thing, either reading it to her stuffed animals, reading it to herself, or demanding it be read to her, at all times.

He had never even realised that she likely would _meet_ Harry Potter until Molly had told him of the encounter at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. He had figured she fancied the boy after that, with the way she was always talking of him -- and it was truly _always. _But he'd never thought they might seriously...date.

Apparently, Molly had predicted it after the Chamber incident. _Three years prior!_ He probably should have thought it too. Looking back, he couldn't believe he hadn't made the connection.

Ginny owed her life to Harry. Life Magic and Love Magic are two very close subjects. The saving of someone's life isn't always repaid simply by returning the favour. It is much more complicated than that. Depending on the circumstances, Arthur had heard, a life-debt could forge a bond that was unbreakable. Such a bond that is eternal, and even transcends death.

Apparently, those circumstances matched Harry and Ginny.

But they weren't the _only_ unique circumstances around the two. No, that was just the beginning...

BANG!

"Bloody--OW!" screamed Arthur, loudly, but not loudly enough to attract attention. Actually, this was untrue: a passing gnome, Arthur noticed, turned his head.

Lost in his thoughts, Arthur hadn't been watching where he had been going. He had banged right into the kitchen doorway, with the veletision in his hands. The resonating vibration shook him, and he promptly stubbed his toe, as well. For the life of him, he couldn't remember why he hadn't levitated the thing. It would have been much easier.

Steadily taking the last few steps, his toe throbbing, he placed the veletision down on the kitchen table. Molly was sitting down at the other end of the table, sipping a mug of coffee and humming a tune.

"They went upstairs," she said, "so you can put that in the living room."

Arthur did a double take. "They _what!_ And you _let_ them? What happened to 'If things get out of hand, I'll do something?'"

He looked at him oddly. "What are you talking--oh! _No_, that's not what I--they took Harry's trunk up to Percy's room. I don't mean they _went upstairs,_" she said in her scolding voice. "Honestly, Arthur...jumping to conclusions...I basically told them to clear out, suggesting they take Harry's trunk upstairs. I said you'd need privacy to hook up that thing."

"Oh," said Arthur, relaxing. "That's alright then."

Neither said anything for a minute. Finally, Molly raised her eyebrows. "Shouldn't you be putting something together..."

"Oh, right."

And so he went.

"IT'S READY!" called Arthur up the stairs. He had expected Harry and Ginny to be back down before he was finished. After all, how long does it take to put a trunk upstairs? Of course, they'd probably done more than just that while away from prying eyes. He didn't particularly want to think about it.

A minute later, two rather red teenagers were at the bottom of the stairs, eager to not seem suspicious. Of course, if one is 'eager' not to be suspicious, they are more suspicious than even the worst and most obvious criminals. However, this isn't particularly relevant, as both other humans in the house knew perfectly well what they were hiding.

Ginny handed her father the video tape. _The Wizard of Oz._ He put it in the slot on the front of the VCR, and actually thought to put the veletision on '3' (he'd heard you were supposed to do that).

Harry and Ginny sat, a little closer than was normal, on the sofa, and faced the screen. It began to play.

**_ "For nearly forty years this  
story has given faithful service to  
the Young in Heart; and Time has  
been powerless to put its kindly  
philosophy out of fashion.To those of you who have  
been faithful to it in return...and to the Young in Heart  
…we dedicate this picture." _**

It began.

**_ Author's Note_** Well, I hope that you enjoyed chapter five, of Believe in Yesterday. I hate to do this again, but I'm going to have to delay chapter six for a, well...a _bit_. It might be a couple weeks before it's up. I have yet another nasty block that belongs to writers (_writer's block_) and I'm a bit stuck. Hopefully, I'll be able to get the next chapters out as soon as I can. It is summer, and I'll have much more opportunity to write now. And believe me, no matter how long it takes, this story is _not_ going to be forgotten.In the mean time, check out PhoenixSong.net, for my entry to the summer contest. (VOTE 47!) Which one is mine? Well, in accordance to the rules, ("please do not post on other sites so that this does not become a popularity contest") I am _not telling._Also, if you haven't read "Happily Ever After," my latest short-story, be sure to do so. It can be found in my profile, under the name "Happily Ever After" (duh). And be sure to review it! (And this!)And, while I still have writer's block (which you could never guess, judging by the length of this author's note), I have another, shorter-short-story in the works. For once, I think it won't pair anyone up...I think. It should be up pretty soon. Look for it.And now my sister is getting impatient because I'm taking to long to finish this author's note (not to mention spelling words like "too" incorrectly), because she wants to get on the computer. Oh, well, she'll have to wait. (You should, however, thank her, as she's gratefully agreed to post this chapter for me. I have an idea...how about you review her story? Her name's "RaajmdTMP," on fanfiction.net, and--)Hey, this is _my _author's note! Get out!Well, gotta get going. Be sure to review (my story, that is). No, mine. No, mine. No! MINE!**_ Next Chapter   
Good Eats_** "This -- is London."   
Edward Roscoe Murrow**_Coming Soon_**


	7. Good Eats

Believe in Yesterday  
_ Potter47_

_** Part One  
Old Friends**_

"This -- is London."  
Edward Roscoe Murrow **__**

Chapter Six  
Good Eats 

Hours passed. Many hours. Unbeknownst to Ron and Luna, the bright sun of midday came and went, and it was nearing four o'clock. Of course, as the term 'unbeknownst' typically refers to 'without the knowledge,' the two didn't have a clue. They likely thought it was still morning. You know what they say; time flies.

Ron had soon realised that he would have no idea what to do, if he wasn't with Luna, so after his ears had cooled down he had returned to her section of the attic.

They had gone through box after box. Bin after bin. Now, they were opening a large, cardboard box that Ron couldn't have moved an inch, even if he wanted to.

"What's _in _this thing?" he asked.

"Let's find out," said Luna. She snapped open her knife, and slit the duct tape sealing the top of the box. Ron had been surprised to see how useful that knife had turned out to be. It wasn't only for de-thumbing Dark Lords; it had practical uses as well.

The flaps flapped open. Inside was, quite likely, the largest quantity of tabloid magazines Ron had ever seen at one time. He doubted, for some reason, that it would be the largest he ever saw, however. He didn't know why.

Hundreds and hundreds of _Quibbler_s were stacked and piled atop one another. Insane cartoons were displayed on their covers; anything from a skull in a bowler hat, to a goblin-shaped pie. The box seemed never-ending.

"Oh, we can't touch this one," said Luna. "Dad still adds to this. It's his collection. Every issue that's been printed in the last twenty-five years. He just sends the new ones up by themselves, 'cause of his allergy."

Ron found himself nodding, despite the lack-of-need for it.

Moving around a couple of issues, Ron saw the infamous one from last year.

**_ HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:  
THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED  
AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN _**

But there were other headlines that jumped out at him as well.

**_ GAMES FOR WIZARD CHILDREN COMPANY BANKRUPT!  
FINANCES NOW BEING PAID IN COW BRAINS!_**

_Bloody...urgh._ It wasn't the name that made Ron think such thoughts; it was the illustration. This one depicted -- unpredictably -- a cow brain on a chess board. It looked...juicy. Ron wanted to throw up, but sensed Luna's father would not be happy. He could see the headlines now: WEASLEY SON VOMITS ON _QUIBBLER_S! DETAILS ON PAGE TWELVE! Once again: urgh.

Ron quickly covered up the cow brain story.

"You know," said Luna offhandedly, pointing, "that one turned out to be not true. It was a rival toy company that started the rumour. Parkinson Brothers or something to that effect."

_Hmm...any relation to Pansy Parkinson?_ Ron didn't particularly care. It was just a thought that popped into his mind. Speaking of 'popping,' a popping sound announced the arrival of a visitor. "Luna? Ronnie? I made sandwiches!" The words were muffled, as if there was something covering the speaker's mouth.

Of course, as it turned out, there _was._

"Dad? What are you doing up here?" Luna stood up and dusted herself off, as her father came into view. He was wearing a Muggle painting mask, which covered his mouth and nose.

"I could ask you the same thing. You've been up here for..." he looked at the watch on his right wrist, "..._nine hours!_ What have you been doing all this time? And without even taking a break..."

_Nine hours! _Ron had had no clue (as aforementioned) that so much time had gone by.

"I guess time flies," said Luna, looking a bit surprised herself.

"When you're having fun?" suggested Mr Lovegood hopefully. "Please do tell me; are you _enjoying _cleaning? I could make this a regular chore..." He smiled optimistically. _But he was wearing a mask..._Ron didn't know how he could tell, but he was positive that the man _was _smiling.

"No thanks," said Luna. "But it hasn't been _that bad._" She smirked at her father. "But I'm still not cleaning my room."

"Whatever you say, my Qu--"

"Er, excuse me?" said Ron. He had just noticed; he was _starving._ He hadn't eaten a _thing_ all day. Not one bite. He didn't consciously think of it, but this set the record for the longest waking period without food since he was seven. "Where are the sandwiches?"

Mr Lovegood was decidedly empty-handed. He squinted at Ron, confuzzled. "Sandwiches?"

"Yes," said Ron. "You just said you made sandwiches--"

"Oh _those_ sandwiches!" said Luna's father cheerfully, clearly remembering the long-lost thought. "Oh, I ate those. I could make some more, I suppose. Are you hungry?"

_He ate them? Then why did he say..._ Ron supposed that all the man had said was, _I made sandwiches,_ not _I made YOU sandwiches_. He clearly had just been stating a fact. He _had_

made sandwiches.

"Yes," said Ron, trying to keep the utter lost-ness out of his voice. "I haven't eaten all day."

Mr Lovegood's jaw dropped to the floor. "Not _a thing!_ But, you know, _breakfast's _the most important meal of the _day!_ To go without it is bad for your _health!_ By _golly_, Ronnie, _you're_ coming with me!"

He reached out and forcefully grabbed Ron's arm, dragging him toward the attic's exit. He practically pushed him down (in the most kind and gentle way, however).

Luna was left, alone in the attic, with nothing but many, many boxes, bins, and a familiar blue chair for company. She gazed toward the stairway with a lost look.

"_Ronnie?_" she repeated in disbelief. She needed to have a talk with her father. Now.

"Holy Pop Tarts!" said London Lovegood, slamming open kitchen cabinets in his seemingly futile search. "Where are the Pop Tarts?"

"Erm, what are _pop tarts?_" said Ronnie, not pronouncing the capitalised 'p' and 't' at _all._

"No, it's _P_op_ T_arts," said London, enunciating correctly. "They are highly nutritional and tasty breakfast foods. Eleven essential vitamins and minerals, I believe." He opened the very last not-open cabinet. "Aha! And," he said, popping a tart into the Muggle toaster, "they come in a variety of delectable flavours."

"Oh _no_..." said Luna, sliding into the room on the highly polished wood floor, and hoping she heard wrong. "Please, Dad, don't tell me you started informing him of the nutritional benefits of Pop Tarts..." Notice the capitals: she has heard this spiel many times previously.

"No, I _finished _informing him of the nutritional benefits of Pop Tarts," said London proudly. _POP!_ "All done!"

"I _asked _you not to tell me that..."

London pulled a set of tongs out of a draw, and tossed it into his left hand. He used the utensil to grasp the tart from the upright toaster. He danced across to the table. "Try _that!_" said London, slapping the hot pastry onto a ceramic plate.

Ron wasn't entirely sure as to the proper way of eating this so called "POP TART" (to be careful). But, as he was incredibly hungry -- not to mention that he didn't _normally_ eat the so called "proper" way -- he just picked it up -- _HOT!_ -- and took a bite.

London crouched down to Ron's eye level (the latter was seated). He watched the small changes in expression on Ron's face. As he saw the first signs of satisfaction form, he jumped up, crying, "He likes it! Hey Mikey!"

But, before Ron could enquire as to who this "Mikey" was, Luna's father was right in front of him once again.

"How do you like it?"

Ron swallowed. He looked down at the rest of the Pop Tart. "This is--"

"Good eats?" London guessed happily.

"I was going to say, 'This is cinnamon, right?'..."

"Yes, but _that's_ another show!" said London, moving away from Ron once again. "I'll be back in a jiffy. Need to use the loo." He dashed away.

Ron stared after him, jaw somewhere around his ankles.

"I am _so sorry!_" said Luna apologetically. "He's not usually that..._that. _It's just that today is...close."

Ron, who had taken another bite, now swallowed. "Close to what?" he asked.

"You know," said Luna, looking out the door to be sure her father was not within hearing distance, "the day it happened."

"The day what--" Ron stopped, comprehending. "Oh. You mean the day your...mother..."

"Yep," said Luna. "Six years."

"I'm sorry..."

"Why?" she said, her voice rather odd. "You didn't do anything. It's not as if you could have stopped it."

Ron thought he might have seen a look of...something, cross Luna's face for a moment. A look that he wasn't used to seeing there. But it was gone just as quick as it came, and he was sure he'd imagined it.

"When...when is the day?" he asked. "You said it was 'close.' How close?"

"'Bout as close as you can get," Luna said. "My mother died six years ago, tomorrow morning at four-_nine_teen." Something in the way Luna had said 'nineteen' made Ron think the number held more than Luna was saying. He didn't know why. Just something.

"Ginny," said Harry curiously. "Where's Ron, anyway?"

They were in the Weasley garden, degnoming. It was odd, really. As soon as the movie had ended, Mrs Weasley had shooed them out of the house, saying that the garden looked despicable. Harry, having lived with Aunt Petunia for quite a long time, agreed that it wasn't the _neatest_ garden in the world, but he wouldn't call it _despicable._

Ginny, after letting a gnome fly a good fifty feet, turned to Harry, and said, "What?"

"Where's Ron?" repeated Harry. "I mean, I reckoned he was asleep, but now it's a bit late, even for him, don't you think?"

"Yeah," she said, suddenly bewildered as well. "I didn't even notice...," she said, looking up to her house. "I wonder where he is."

"AAHHH!"screamed Harry. A gnome had taken advantage of his lack of attention, and sunk its teeth into his right leg. He kicked wildly for a while, and Ginny tried to get the thing off too. Sadly, this was rather difficult with the aforementioned wild kicking. She took a kick to her own left arm, before giving up.

After another painful minute, the gnome's teeth had had enough. It went flying, at least three hundred yards, until it vanished in the distance. Harry looked down. The little thing had drawn _blood._

"Ow," Harry said needlessly, calming down a bit. He noticed Ginny rubbing her arm. "Sorry 'bout that."

"It's fine," she lied. The truth was, Harry had a _very _strong kick. Also, very _painful._

"Honestly!" said Mrs Weasley, bustling out to the garden. "Not one, but _both _of you get hurt _degnoming!_ How can you manage that? Especially _you_, Ginny; you've been doing this for years and you've never hurt yourself before. Let's get you two inside. That doesn't look very good Harry...I'll have a look at it. And how _did _you manage to hurt your arm like that Ginny? It looks as though you were _kicked!_"

"Er..." said Harry, turning red. They made their way back to the house without incident (which is saying something, as the house was _ten whole metres away!_), with Mrs Weasley rambling, Harry limping, and Ginny rubbing.

"What happened to you two?" said Mr Weasley as they emerged into the living room. "Surely the little gnomes didn't beat you up so badly? They've always been such nice little buggers..."

"No, they haven't--" said Ginny, but he ignored her. It didn't much matter, anyway, as Mrs Weasley just pushed them straight through to the kitchen.

"Now, you two are going to sit still, while I look up the charms to help," she said, pulling them out two of the table's chairs. She went right back out into the living room, and came back in a few moments with a large tome. She set it down on the table.

"I never can remember that charm...," she said, flipping through the pages. "Cut sealing, cut sealing..."

After a minute or two of painful impatientness from Harry, she said, "Aha!" and turned around, wand at the ready. She pointed it at his leg.

"_Sutura venae!_" The blood that was flowing stopped. "_Scourgify!_" The blood disappeared from his leg. She consulted the book again. "_Relashio!_"

"AAHHH!" Harry screamed in pain, his leg felt like it was on _fire--_

Just joking. What she _really_ said was: "_Sutura dermis!_" and his leg was as good as new. She murmured something else to relieve Ginny of her bruise, but Harry didn't pay attention. He was just happy to have his leg back.

"That better?" asked Mrs Weasley worriedly. Harry and Ginny nodded. "Next time you de-gnome, I suggest you be a _bit_ more careful. What if _I'm_ not here to save the day?"

"Still hungry?" asked London, returning -- bouncingly -- to the kitchen. "Do you want some sandwiches now?"

"Yes, please," said Ron. He was, however, rather worried about _what _Luna's father was going to put in the sandwich. Never assume, especially when it comes to London Lovegood. Or Luna, for that matter.

"Sure," said Luna.

"Too bad, as it seems I've run out of bread..."

Of course. Should have known.

"I'll just run down to the store and pick some up, eh?" he asked, putting on a raincoat, from the sliding-door closet, and placing a white fedora atop his head. He looked...there was no other word for it...odd.

"We could just eat something else--"

"_Good-_bye," he said, waving, and walked right back where he came from, smiling, presumably to use the front door. "Never liked bad byes..." they could hear him say as he went out of sight.

"But--" said Ron, still not quite used to London Lovegood. "But it's not raining--"

"Yes, well it _is_ Tuesday," reasoned Luna.

"Yeah, I guess..._what?_"

Luna didn't seem to hear him. She narrowed her eyes, tilted her head, and walked out of the room, to the dining room. Ron followed.

"HELP...Someone, _please!_ I've fallen and I can't get up!" the voice was high-pitched and low to the ground. Ron followed Luna out onto the back porch. Chessy was there, on the wooden floor.

"What happened, Chessy?" asked Luna, bending over to pick the little box up. "Why are you on the floor?"

"The _wind_," said Chessy miserably. "It blew me right off the railing...and it _hurt_." Her eyes darted from side to side. "My pieces! They're gone! My back snapped off--oh, dear..."

"We'll find your pieces Chessy," said Luna.

"Sure thing," said Ron. "'Course we will."

"They probably fell through the bars," Chessy said. "And you'll need to fix my back, as well--"

"Dad can do that," said Luna, walking Chessy over to the porch's glass-topped table, "we can't use magic out of school--"

"WHAT?" Chessy said, flipping upside-down before Luna could put her down. She faced Luna. "London Lovegood is not putting a wand _near me. _Spellotape'll have to do," she said.

Luna, looking rather hurt, put her on the table, and hoisted herself up and over the railing. Ron, on the other hand, took the time to go down the three steps.

"You look over there, I'll look over here," said Luna. "We'll work towards each other, and we're bound to find all of them."

"There're thirty-two," said Ron.

"Yes, I know that," said Luna.

"Oh, right."

Luna pulled two bags, seemingly, out of nowhere. She handed one to Ron, before moving off to her side of the lawn.

They worked, as Luna had suggested, towards each other. It took surprisingly long, as Mr Lovegood did not keep his lawn very neat; the grass was four or five inches tall, and there were numerous obstacles. Ron didn't exactly want to know what some of them did; they seemed notoriously Muggle.

Knights, pawns, rooks, bishops. They were scattered all over the lawn, and it made Ron wonder just how much wind had been blowing. And, as the air was still now, how long Chessy had been on the floor for.

_Here's the black king,_ thought Ron. He saw, a metre or two away, Luna pick up the white king, and put it into her bag.

_Just the White Queen left now, _he thought. And then they would be done. Surely Mr Lovegood would be back by now. On the other hand, Ron had no clue where the nearest store was, nor whether London Lovegood typically shopped at the _nearest_ store.

Ron had the mental image of the man skipping down the high street of Ottery St. Catchpole, swinging his arms and singing a merry tune.

The White Queen was a particularly pesky piece to place. The other thirty-one had obediently waited to be found. However, Ron had the feeling that the queen was hiding from them. He didn't know why, but it seemed what was happening. Perhaps she was taking advantage of her first bit of freedom in years.

In other words: they couldn't find her.

Searching beneath a small rusted tricycle for the twelfth time, Ron was beginning to get frustrated. He was sure she was right under his nose; he just couldn't see her.

Ron had his eyes on the ground. He was crawling along, on his hands and knees. He wasn't watching where he was going. He just kept sifting through the grass, looking for the queen. He didn't notice when a _different _queen was closer than either realised.

Whack!

"OW!" said both Ron and Luna, bouncing back. Their heads had banged into each other -- quite painfully -- and there was now a ringing in Ron's head.

"Oh, I didn't see where I was going--"

"It's okay," said Ron, rubbing his forehead with one hand, and his back with another. _Hey, maybe I'll have a scar!_ No blood. That's a good thing.

It then occurred to him that hid back should not hurt quite so much. He turned around.

"Aha!" he said, triumphantly, picking up the little white piece of enchanted wood. "There you are, you little bugger."

Ron thought that if the queen had had saliva, she would have spit on him. This was not at all the chess set he remembered.

"You found her?" said Luna, standing up and brushing her pants off.

"Yep."

"You can put me down now," said the queen. "I do have legs you know."

"Yes, I know that _very_ well," said Ron. "Why'd you run?"

The queen snorted. "If you were locked up in a box for years and years, what would you do? Just sit and wait to be boxed back up again? Or try to be free?"

"Hello again," said Luna. "How've you been?"

"I've been _perfect_," sneered the piece.

"You know," said Luna, "I thought you were supposed to be nice to people. Wasn't it in the satisfaction guarantee?"

"I'm supposed to be nice to _children_," said the queen. "And you two are no longer children. And you aren't playing, either, which is the other time I must be _nice_," she said, not very nicely.

Ron put her in his bag, mostly just to shut her up. He and Luna walked back over to Chessy.

"You found them all?" asked Chessy. "I could never do without one of them...they're all like my _children_. Of course, they're the closest _I'll_ ever get to having children..."

"Yes, we have them all," said Luna, emptying her bag into Chessy's snapped back. Ron followed suit.

"Oh, thank you so very much, Ronnie, Queen Luna. How shall I ever repay you?"

"You don't have to--" began Ron, but Luna cut him off:

"How 'bout a game of chess?" she said.

"Oh, that's a _splendid_ idea! But would you mind playing inside? It's terribly breezy out here. Your father won't be there, will he?"

**_ Author's Note _** Think of London, in this chapter, as something called 'comic relief.' Cherish it. It'll have to last a while. After next chapter, seriousness is the name of the game. Also, I, er, _borrowed_ the spells for the fixing of the wound, from the story, "The Buried Life," by Kalina Lea. Hope she doesn't mind...or press charges... Well, I'm sure all you loyal readers out there remember the chapter title contest from _Living inside Yesterday._ Well, I've decided that another contest is in order, though this one will be a bit different. In the above chapter, there are several pop culture references. Actually, I'm not entirely sure what falls under 'pop culture', so I'll just say that there are **four (4) **references in the above story that have something to do with television. If you find **one** **(1)** of these, and point it out in a review or e-mail you will receive one _Believe in Yesterday _wallpaper, absolutely _free_. If you find **two (2)**, you will get the wallpaper, along with the title of the next chapter of "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince" (my story, not JKR's), which is a parody of the various theories surrounding the sixth book.

If you find **three (3)**, you will get the aforementioned wallpaper, along with an _advance__ copy_ of the next chapter of "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince".

If you find all **4 (four)**, (which I doubt you will), you will not only get the wallpaper, the advance copy, (obviously with the title), but you will also get a hint about what is to come in the future of _this_ story!

So, scan this chapter for references (and I'm sorry to say, if there are any I didn't notice writing, they don't count), and review or e-mailme with your responses. If you review, please be logical and leave your e-mailaddress, or it'll be a bit difficult to send you anything.

Be quick about it, however. You only have until the posting of the--

**************_ Next Chapter  
Once a Pawn in Time_**

"'Tis all a Checkerboard of Nights and Days  
Where Destiny with Men for pieces plays:  
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,  
And one by one back in the Closet lays."  
Omar Khayyam (Edward FitzGerald trans.)  
**************_  
Coming Soon _**


	8. Once a Pawn in Time

Believe in Yesterday  
_ Potter47_

_** Part One  
Old Friends**_

"'Tis all a Checkerboard of Nights and Days  
Where Destiny with Men for pieces plays:  
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,  
And one by one back in the Closet lays."  
Omar Khayyam (Edward FitzGerald trans.) **_  
_**  
**_ Chapter Seven  
Once a Pawn in Time_**

Harry sat down on the couch, his leg still a bit numb. Ginny sat next to him, rubbing her arm. This rubbing was rather like the "phantom limb" syndrome, in which a person who has lost a leg, or an arm, or a toothbrush, still imagine that they can feel their toes, fingers, or bristles. Of course, Ginny did still have her arm, so it was more like "phantom pain" syndrome, where a person still feels pain after the pain has receded.

"You know," said Ginny, trying to make herself comfortable on the squishy couch, "it almost feels as though it still hurts, even though the pain has receded."

"Yeah," said Harry. "And my leg still feels a bit numb."

They sat in silence once again. _Why is it so hard to talk to Ginny? I love Ginny. I should be able to--_

Ginny's voice broke him out of his thoughts. "So, Harry," she said carefully. "How _are_ you doing?"

"I'm..." Harry began, but he realised _he_ didn't know exactly how he was doing. "I'm not exactly _happy_, but that's to be expected, isn't it? With the Dementors, and the prophecy and everything..."

"But Harry," said Ginny, moving a little closer to him on the couch, "what about everything _good?_ Things could be a lot worse, couldn't they? I mean, if something had gone wrong last June? In the Riddle House, what if Voldemort had killed one of us? What if Luna hadn't been able to...do what she did? And back in nineteen-forty-five, what if Riddle had killed you or me?" She swallowed. "Or even back at the Ministry. What if the Death Eaters had done something terrible?"

And these words brought to him a thought that he had not thought, and left unthunk for a very long time.

"Have you heard anything from Sirius?" he asked suddenly. So suddenly, in fact, that Ginny jumped back a bit at the suddenness.

"What? Sirius? Why would Sirius write to me?"

"Because," said Harry. "He hasn't been writing to me. I just realised it now. I'd been... blocking everything out, I guess. I haven't seen or heard anything from him since King's Cross."

"Well, neither have I," said Ginny, beginning to get a bit worried. "You don't think something's happened to him, do you?"

"I don't know," said Harry, shaking his head. "It seems... as if something had been keeping me from thinking of him. Something inside my head, that's just now gone away..." He shook his head once again, decisively. "And now I'm spouting off nonsense."

"Why don't you owl him?" suggested Ginny. "An answer shouldn't take to long... Grimmauld Place isn't all that far from here--"

"No," said Harry. "In Dumbledore's letter, he seemed a bit nervous about headquarters. I'm not sure it's secure right now. I don't want to risk giving everything away."

The two sat silently, thinking.

"The last time I saw him," said Ginny, "well, _really_ saw him, that is, not just Snuffles." Snuffles, you see, had caught on with the Order as a nickname for Sirius' dog form. Not just for in situations that needed secrecy, but just in general. It got a bit annoying sometimes, actually; especially Snape, who's face was so mocking whenever _he _uttered the word that it nearly drove most members insane (especially the dog in question). "The last time I saw him was at Christmas. When he was so happy...but you saw him after that, of course. Through the fire."

_Christmas...,_ Harry thought. _Something happened at Christmas..._

And Harry was not simply having a case of memory block, forgetting that gifts were unwrapped and 'Happy Christmases' exchanged at Christmas. He was thinking on a much more specific scale, of one time in particular.

He looked at Ginny, who's face looked back at him worriedly. The coach was so old and squishy that Harry's seat was down several inches from where Ginny was. His eyes were right at the same level as hers were. He could see his own green orbs reflecting in her bright brown ones...

Reflecting...

Mirror...

Suddenly, once again making Ginny jump slightly from the suddenness of it, Harry was off the sinking couch and storming up the stairs.

"Where on Earth are you going, Harry?" Ginny called after him.

He did not answer.

Ron and Luna entered the living room, and the latter set Chessy down on the coffee table.

"I'm white," said Luna, unfolding the chessboard within Chessy. She began to put the white pieces in their proper places.

"I'm not complaining," said Ron, recalling the White Queen. He didn't fancy trying to tell _her_ what to do.

"Remember, Chessy: you don't need to give us any hints. We're plenty old enough to play on our own," said Luna.

"Yes, yes, I know," said Chessy dejectedly. "I don't have to be happy about it though," she added.

"Of course you don't," said Luna pleasantly. She reached over and placed Ron's king on the fourth square from the left -- white, of course. Queen's always on her colour. King has to deal with it.

The board was, eventually, set up. Luna, being white, went first. "Queen-side knight, c-three."

And so the game began.

Ron, of course, was quite used to making quick work of competition in chess. He could play Harry four or five times in an hour some times. He had anticipated the same now. Sadly -- for him, at least -- this was just another effect of spending such a long time without Luna. He had forgotten just how good she was at chess.

_I haven't really _forgotten he reasoned mentally, _I just haven't been thinking of it._

Luna's knight was on g-five. He might just be able to... "Pawn to e-six," said Ron.

_Come on, come on, come on...knight to e-six...I want that knight..._ For, you see, if Luna moved her knight to e-six, Ron could easily capture it with his queen-side bishop. He just hoped she didn't see that.

"Knight to..." _Come on..._ "...b-five."

_NO._

And the game continued much like this. Luna never seemed to fall into his traps, like Harry and Hermione and Ginny and Fred and George and Percy and just about everyone else he'd ever played, did. Just like always. Sadly -- for him at least.

And the worst part about it -- for Ron at least -- was that Luna didn't even seem to be _trying_. She was just _moving_, never taking more than five seconds. It was destroying his game.

"Queen to h-four," said Ron. Then, triumphantly, "Check!"

Ron glanced over at Chessy -- the box, at least -- and was surprised to find her face screwed up worriedly. _Must be scared for Luna_, Ron thought.

Ron looked back up at Luna, and saw her glance flick down to the board quickly. "Bishop to h-four," she said. Her face quirked into a grin. "_Not_ check," she said.

Disbelieving, Ron watched as his queen was dragged from the board. "That's not possible--" he said. But of course, it _was _possible. It was, in fact, fact.

"Your move," said Luna, as if nothing had happened.

In shock, Ron looked down at the board. If his queen was gone, he'd have to use his rook. He hated having to bring out the rooks. _She's going to pay,_ he thought.

Sadly -- for him at least -- she did not pay. The loss of his queen was just the tip of the iceberg; just the beginning of a downward spiral that would end thusly:

"King to b-seven," said Ron, distraught. He had lost nearly everything. He had three pawns left, and a single knight. Luna had one of her rooks in its original place -- a-one -- and the other in the opposite square -- h-eight. Her queen was on f-six, and he was afraid she was going to--

"Pawn to b-six," said Luna. The little guy tip-toed to his new, black square -- he was quite terrified that he was being sacrificed, as he usually was. Looking around, however, a look of glee came over his little painted features.

"You've done it, Queen Luna!" he shouted, earning a cross look from the White Queen. His voice had never been very strong, so he needed to shout to be heard at all.

"Oh, right," said Luna. "I forgot to say 'checkmate.'"

It was a fitting end, for Ron. In the very worst game of his life, he was to be checkmated by a pawn. He had most definitely never lost to a pawn before. Even back when he used to play Luna. Never.

"Good game," said Ron weakly.

"You as well," said Luna pleasantly.

"Can I talk now?" asked Chessy impatiently. "You have no idea how hard it is, to keep quiet during a game of chess. Well, I suppose you do for _you_, but I'm a chessboard! I'm _supposed _to talk during chess games--"

"Actually, Chessy," interrupted a cheerful voice from the doorway, "Muggle chessboards don't talk at all. I had one when I was little, and it was silenter than an empty cauldron--"

"Not again!" said Chessy exasperatedly. "Where'd you come from? I thought you were gone--"

"You surely didn't expect me to stay out all night, did you?"

"A board can dream!" She looked at Luna pleadingly. "Would you mind terribly to just put all my pieces back in my belly and put me somewhere safe?"

"Of course Chessy," said Luna, and began to gather the pieces once again. The White Queen made a run for the edge of the table, but it was futile. Luna picked up Chessy, sure not to spill anything out of her broken back, and carried it up to her room.

Mr Lovegood looked at Ron, confuzzled. "Have I said something?"

Luna pushed open the door. She saw the plaque, which read "Luna's Room" but didn't really pay it much mind. It was, of course, something she saw everyday.

She sat, or perhaps _placed_ Chessy on the nightstand, so that if by any chance a wind was to blow inside of the room, she would simply fall on the bed.

"Thank you, my Queen," said Chessy gratefully.

"Any time," said Luna. She made as if to back out the door, but paused, looking round the room. The bedspread was deep blue, the nightstand was tarnished yellow, and its tablecloth was purple with white polka-dots. She liked her room. She hadn't changed it for...a year, actually. And then she only had replaced the tablecloth, which had been green.

She shook her head; _Why am I thinking about purple polka-dotted table cloths? Ronald is here!_

Once again, she made to leave, and return to the downstairs. This time, however, once she had securely shut the door, she looked over the hallway. Yellow pinstriped walls, thick orange round carpet over hardwood floor. A wooden, old-fashioned desk, tucked into a small alcove.

But she was not interested in these things.

What intrigued her was a chair. It was deep, royal blue, and looked very, very comfortable. But this was not unique; there were comfortable chairs all over the house. The thing that made this chair unique was the fact that it had not been there, in the hallway with the yellow pinstriped walls and thick orange round carpet and hardwood floor, only a moment before.

She had seen this chair earlier, up in the attic, but it had not looked nearly as comfortable then. It had been covered with boxes and bins, spoiling its majestic look. Now it was as good as new, if not slightly weathered by peoples' bottoms sitting on it. Though no-one had sat on this chair in quite a while.

It was her mother's chair. The chair that Cynthia Lovegood had had in front of her mirror. No, not her make-up mirror; Cynthia Lovegood didn't tend to wear make up. But _her_ mirror, the mirror that Luna had always identified as _Mum's._

The chair had been moved after Luna's mum's death. She never knew why. It just never was in the hallway anymore, behind the desk, in the little alcove. She never asked her father about it. It hadn't seemed important.

_This chair was not here a moment ago_, thought Luna. _And no-one's here to move it... It must have moved itself, _she reasoned.

But, as you and I know, chairs do not move themselves, unless they have a very good reason, such as avoiding the sharp claws of a feline. But there were no cats in the Lovegood house. London was allergic.

Not really knowing what she was doing, Luna walked over, and sat on the chair. Nothing seemed different... There were the yellow pinstriped walls, and the thick orange round carpet on the hardwood floor. There was the desk, right in front of Luna. There was the mighty-looking stained-glass window at the end of the great hall.

"Queen Luna!" came the familiar voice of Harpia. She sounded rather panicked, as if something terrible had happened.

"What is it?" said the Queen worriedly, sitting up straight in her throne.

"Thank the celestial bodies you're awake...," said Harpia, landing with her claws perched on the perch next to Luna's throne. "You've been sleeping for ages. Logica-Land is not safe. Things have been set in motion that we have worked against for lilisks and lilisks. The Envelope of Oblivion is closing in. It should arrive within the week. We must do something!"

"WHAT?" cried Luna. "Well, why didn't you wake me up?"

"You wouldn't wake! We tried! I hope you'll forgive that little scar you have on your arm. I tried to prod you awake with my claw, but..."

"That doesn't matter," said the Queen.

"But that isn't the worst of it," said Harpia hesitantly. "King Ronald is missing."

_Missing._

"What? How?" demanded the Queen. "When?"

"He was on an expedition, with the Explorers," said Harpia. "They came back, but he didn't. We don't know what happened."

"Is that everything?"

"Well, _no_..."

"Then what else?" said Luna exasperatedly.

"If the Envelope succeeds, and its followers rule...everything good we have done in the world will be undone."

"Yes, of course it would. They are evil, and it is only logical that they would destroy the good in the world..."

"That's not what I mean," said Harpia. "I mean that everything good will be _undone_. Truly. So that it had never happened in the first place."

Luna swallowed, realising just how imperative it was that the Envelope be defeated.

"Then what are we waiting for?" she said. "We must find Ronald."

**_ Authors' Note _**

Sorry for the short chapter. The next couple will be much longer. I've decided to extend last chapter's contest until the posting of chapter eight, which will be in five days' time, on 23 July. I'll even lend a hand. To be a bit more specific, I'll be a bit more specific on what "pop culture" constitutes-- lines. There are four lines within the chapter, that I believe are unique to four different television sources. Two are from commercials, two from shows. If that's not specific enough, I don't know what is. Also, a reviewer named Lizzy (I can't remember the numbers that followed) got _three _correct. I plan on sending the wallpaper and advance chapter of "Half Blood Prince" as soon as possible. But remember, Lizzy, that if you submit a fourth correct answer, you will still get the hint as to what is coming in the future of the Yesterday Sequence. Also, new chapters should be out on a regular basis for a while. I've kind of hit a part that just _flows_. Be sure to review. Now. Seriously, even if you read this months from its posting, and the contest is over, and the next chapter is already up, review as soon as you finish reading this author's note. To be more specific…NOW! Please? **__**

Next Chapter  
Shattered

"When one does not know what it is, then it is something;  
But when one knows what it is, it is nothing."

**_ Coming Soon _**


	9. Shattered

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47** Part One   
Old Friends**_ "When one does not know what it is, then it is something;  
But when one knows what it is, it is nothing."**_ Chapter Eight   
Shattered _**

"Not quite so fast, my Queen," said Harpia resolutely, as Luna was about to spring from her throne.

"What?" asked Luna impatiently. "Ronald is missing, I have to find him!"

"Exactly!" said Harpia. "The King is missing. There are Dark forces at work, my Queen. You must be careful. If you simply charge out of the palace, you are sure to be captured by the Envelope's servants. You cannot be sure who to trust."

"But what are we to _do?_" said Luna anxiously. "We cannot just _sit _here…"

"That is why I have asked one of your brightest servants to help us," said Harpia, flying over off of her perch and across the hall. "Miss Granger!" she called. A familiar face hurried into the hall, and scurried to the throne.

Luna looked down on her suspiciously. "How do we know that _she_ can be trusted? For all we know, she kidnapped Ronald herself!"

"I would never!" said Miss Granger. "I would never do anything to harm the king!"

"She is trustworthy," said Harpia. Something about the way her friend said 'trustworthy' made all of Luna's doubts disappear. It seemed almost...magical.

"I apologise for doubting you, Miss Granger. I'm sure you can understand that I'm... jumpy at the moment."

"Please, call me Hermione," said Hermione.

"No thank you," said Luna. "You're a Snorkack consultant, aren't you Miss Granger? Why do you think you'd be of help in finding Ronald?"

"You see," said Harpia, "Hermione here scored higher than anyone has in years on her S.N.O.R.C.A.C.K.s." Which, of course, stood for Sadly Necessary Ordinary Regular Customary Assessment Check for Kids. "Especially in Defence Against Envelopes of Darkness." Which, as you know, the students generally referred to as D.E.A.D., despite the order of the words.

"How many did she get?" asked Luna curiously.

"Forty-seven," said Hermione modestly. "I did horrible, I know—"

"Forty-seven? Really?" said Luna disbelievingly. "But the last person to do that, was—"

"The Wizard," said Harpia, nodding. "Miss Granger here is among great company.

"Wizard?" said Hermione. "What do you mean, 'wizard'? Wizards are mythical beings told about to children in fairy tales."

"I thought you were smart," said the Queen. "There is only one wizard in all of Logica-Land. _The_ Wizard. There is now, at least. My great..." she paused, thinking, "-great-uncle was a Wizard, I hear, but he left the land years ago."

"But who is he? Where is he? Why haven't I read anything about him!" Hermione said, panicked. "Surely I must have read something…"

"The Wizard prefers his secrecy," explained Harpia. "But this is urgent. We must go to him."

"Go to him?" said Luna confuzzledly. "But the Wizard hasn't let _anyone_ see him for years. I doubt he would now, even in such times as this."

"Which is exactly why I found Miss Granger," said Harpia. "I believe that the Wizard may in fact let _Hermione _in, if for the simple reason that they are intellectual peers."

"You never know, when it comes to the Wizard," said Luna sensibly. "It's worth a shot. What do you think, Miss Granger?"

"What?" said Hermione, not comprehending a thing that was going on about her. She could not fathom a response other than "what?" which she now said once again. "What?"

"Oh, this'll never work," said Luna exasperatedly. "She doesn't seem very smart…are you sure she didn't cheat on her exams?"

"I didn't cheat!" exclaimed Hermione indignantly.

"She didn't cheat," said Harpia.

"I simply don't understand what you're telling me to—"

__

Crash!

"What was that?" said Luna suddenly, looking up.

The crash, it seemed, had sounded from the great stained-glass window across the room from Luna's throne. It usually depicted a great big sky, which, of course, was what was beyond it. But the intricate details of glass were lost, and now were falling. Falling faster than a snail, if that snail had been dropped off the top of something very tall.

It had shattered.

"We must fly," said Harpia. She swooped around and prodded Luna out of her chair, before leading the two women down the great hall.

"Fly?" said Hermione anxiously, running. "But we're not half-birds!"

——

The trio walked (or flew) quickly and quietly. After the shock of the window's shattering, it was impossible for Luna to even wonder what would come next.

"I wonder what will come next," said Hermione. "After that window...I don't know what to expect."

"You shouldn't know what to expect," said Luna. "This is Logica-Land, after all."

"I know that, but—"

"Both of you, _please_ shut your mouths," said Harpia. "We must reach the Shelter."

"Shelter?" asked Hermione, not comprehending, which seemed to be her fashion as of late.

"Are you _sure_ she didn't cheat?" asked Luna once again. "She really seems to be a bit incompetent."

"I'm not incompetent! I just don't understand," defended Hermione. "You have to admit, I've been thrown into unexpected circumstances!"

"I said, _shut up!_" hissed Harpia. "No disrespect intended, my Queen," she added.

"But what is the shelter?" asked Hermione, nearly tripping on a Snorkack cub, which had wandered onto the sidewalk they were running along.

"You don't know how to shut up, do you Miss Granger?" said Luna, annoyed. "Fine. The Shelter is a location that is used in emergencies. King Ronald and myself have never needed to use it, as the Envelope had been in hiding. But in the past, kings and queens have taken cover there, while trying to figure a way to defeat the Dark."

"But that is not why we need to reach the Shelter," said Harpia, flapping her wings in such a way as to clear the road for her two-legged companions. "We need to reach the Shelter to use the Private Passage."

"The Passage?" repeated Luna, thinking. "Yes, that is the best way..."

"What is the Passage?"

"It's a—" began Harpia, but she stopped. "We cannot discuss it in public. You'll see what it is when we get there."

And so, at last, a miracle happened.

"It's a miracle," said Luna. "She's not talking."

Hermione was going to think of a snide comeback to that, but she realised that not only would that require talking, but this was the _Queen_. Believe me, it is never a good idea to try to make a snide remark about a queen, _to_ that queen. It is just not wise.

Of course, the three did not exactly blend in to their surroundings. A Harpy, a servant, and a queen never have much luck in that department. In particular, Harpia's brilliant black feathers and Luna's royal blue robes stood out from the crowd. The townsfolk made no secret their conversations about them.

"It's the Queen!" cried some of them. "I thought she was napping..."

"'at can' be ta Queen!" said one. "Wha's she doin' wit' a servan' girl?"

"Look! A birdie!"

"I resent that," muttered Harpia. It seems that a big, great, half-bird, half-woman is one sure-fire way to make an entire village forget about their troubles and want to pet her.

"Look at her shiny feathers! Look at her glittering claws!"

"My claws do not glitter!"

"Look at her beak!"

"I don't have a beak!"

They proceeded in much this fashion as they continued on their "secret" journey to the Shelter. By "secret" with "quotation marks", I mean of course that is wasn't much of a secret at all, but was intended to be.

With a last "Can I _please_ pet you, Birdie?", they managed to duck away from the crowd and into an alleyway off of the High Street. Harpia stroked her feather along the stone wall, counting under her breath. "One, two, three," and so forth, until she reached stone twelve. She tapped the stone, again and again, with her left claw.

"What's she—" began Hermione, but fell into silence when she saw what happened.

Harpia tapped the stone twelve times, and muttered something under her breath. The stone seemed to be sucked into the wall, followed by its neighbours. The process repeated until there was a large enough hole in the wall for a person to climb through.

"You first, my Queen," said Harpia, bowing.

"Thank you," said Luna, before quickly climbing inside the hole. Hermione followed silently, and Harpia swooped in last.

Closing the hole in the wall, Harpia turned to Hermione and Luna. "Here we are."

They were in a worn-down building, with old, tattered rugs, a square table in the centre of the room, with two chairs and a perch.

"Well, that's convenient," said Hermione sensibly. "This is the Shelter, then?"

"This?" scoffed Luna. "You think _this_ is the shelter?"

"This is just a Resting Place," said Harpia. "But we don't have time to waste here. We must continue to the Shelter."

She flew into a small doorway, having to tuck her wings in a bit to do so. She emerged again with a piece of parchment, that I happen to know had been hidden in the back of a toaster, and would easily have been burnt if someone had decided that they wanted waffles in the morning.

"What's that?" asked Hermione questioningly.

"This is the way into the Shelter," said Harpia.

"What does it say?" asked Luna.

"As you know, my Queen, it is a question. You must answer correctly to open the wall to access the Shelter."

"What is it?" asked Hermione and Luna at the same time.

"It says:

_

"What is the square root of twelve?"

_

"Oh, that's simple," said Hermione simply. "It's three-point-four-six-four-one-o-one-six-one-five-one-three-seven-seven-five-four-five-eight-seven-o-five-four-eight-nine-two-six-eight-three-o-one-one-seven, of _course_."

The wall, however, stayed just where it was.

"Are you mad?" asked Luna, staring at Hermione. "That's not the square root of twelve. The square root of twelve is this."

And she reached into her pocket, pulling out an unusual object. It seemed to be formed of tree roots, threaded together to form a two-dimensional cube. In fancy script on both sides of it, was the number

_

** 12**

_

"The square root of twelve," said Luna to the wall, "is formed of tree roots, threaded together to form a two-dimensional cube. In fancy script, on both sides of it, is the number twelve."

The door sprung open, for it was now a door, and not a wall like it had been just a moment before.

"What—" began Hermione, but she silenced herself as Harpia swooped into the open door and Luna followed. Hermione went as well.

The door led to a set of stairs, that led up to the basement below them. It emerged into a dusty cellar, and Hermione couldn't help asking.

"Is _this_ the shelter?" she asked.

"Of course not. This is the cellar. We must go farther down," said Luna.

"There," said Harpia, pointing at the ceiling with her left wing. "That trapdoor. We need to go up that."

"But," began Hermione, "I thought we needed to go _down..._"

Either the Harpy and Queen did not hear, or they simply ignored her. Harpia flipped upside-down, which was sure to be a very nauseating experience, believe me, and grabbed for the trapdoor's knob with her left claw.

As you may know from personal experience, when one is a bird, and they try to fly upside down, there are not usually positive results. Usually, the bird crashes to the ground, cracks his or her skull, and remembers never to try such a thing ever again. Or, the bird simply cannot grasp the doorknob, and they slip to the ground and break a wing. So, if you are a bird, it is probably best that you do not try any aerial acrobatics having to do with inverted doorknobs in the first place.

Luckily, this has no relevance whatsoever to Harpia's situation. She was able to clasp the knob and turn and pull and the trapdoor was opened within a matter of seconds.

Harpia flew up into this new room and reached her right wing down to the floor above. "Grab my wing," she said, "and I'll pull you up."

Luna went first, grasping the beautiful black feathers carefully, so as to not pull any out. It was difficult to be pulled up, but Harpia was strong and Luna was light for her size.

Hermione went up more or less the same, though she was a bit more reluctant to be pulled up by the bird into the floor below. It just didn't make any sense, in her mind at least.

"Is this the shelter?" asked Hermione, quite positive that it would not be, and they would have to pass another illogical barrier. The room they were in was dingy and dark, and she could hardly see beyond the tip of her nose. In fact, it seemed _too_ dark, and if a great beast was about to approach from behind, they'd never know.

"No," said Harpia. She reached down with her claw and pulled the door back into place, which was much, much easier because she was right-side up. The door blended in perfectly with the floor, and it seemed as though they simply were in a room with a small golden doorknob poking out of the floor; which, they kind of were. "Now it is."

"What?"

"Now it is the Shelter."

Hermione turned around once again, expecting to see the same dark and grimy room. However, in place of the blackness was the brightest of lights, and in place of the dinginess under her feet was a clean, cool floor. The walls looked to be made of diamond. They were the shiniest and brightest walls that any of the three had ever seen. The room was amazing. They owed it _awe._

"Wow," said Hermione. "It's amazing."

"Yes, it is," said Luna agreeably, an adverb that is not usually used in the context of Luna and Hermione.

"Yes, it's simply wonderful," said Harpia. "Too bad we must leave at once."

And so they left at once, through a small crack in the wall that grew larger as the trio grew nearer.

"Is this the Passage?" asked Hermione.

"Almost," said Harpia. "This is the start of the Private Passage. Before we reach the end, there will be three more questions."

It was, as Hermione realised,a _long_ passage. Or Passage, as the case may be. The three walked (or flew) for what seemed like hours and hours. Luna thought about Ronald, what might be happening to him, where he might be. Hermione thought about what questions they could possibly be faced with, and if the logical answer would actually work. And Harpia thought about her wings, wondering if they would ever be the same after brushing against the dusty walls so much.

At last, they reached what seemed to be the first barrier.

"This seems to be the First Barrier," said Harpia. She brushed her wing against the stone wall in front of them, making the dust fall out of the cracks. Inscribed on the wall were words, though they were not the same as the question above the Shelter. These were not merely a question:

_ "I am as enchanting as a medieval spell,  
charming as a nursery rhyme, as challenging as a duel.  
I accompany you from cradle to grave,  
providing laughter for childhood,  
literary games for middle age,  
and wisdom tests for elders.""Guess my gnomic name, if you can."_

"This isn't merely a question," said Hermione. "No, no. Even the greatest people in all of Logica-Land would be stuck here, if they couldn't figure it out."

"Well, so will we, won't we?" asked Harpia. "That's why the Wizard put the question here; to keep us out."

"Of course we won't," said Hermione. "As I said, this isn't merely a question. A question can use outside sources. But _this..._ all the information we need is right here, written on the wall."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's a _riddle,_ and—"

But as soon as Hermione had uttered the word "riddle" she was silenced. The wall in front of them had melted away, as if it were something very, very hard that had been enveloped in fire, and in time had melted away, though this happened much, much quicker.

"What happened?" asked Luna. "It just—"

"Riddle," said Hermione. "The answer must have been riddle. Funny, I didn't even get a chance to think about it..."

"Never mind that now," said Harpia. "We must fly."

"Will you stop saying that?"

They continued walking down the long passageway, which was a bit darker than it was before, as if it was going deep into the heart of a mountain, and someone had forgotten to turn on the electricity.

Before long, they came to another wall. It was the second barrier.

"This is the Second Barrier," said Harpia. "I presume it will be another riddle—" and here she paused, as if making sure that the wall did not melt away again. "Too bad."

This one read:

_ "I am older than the pyramids,  
I am the daughter of the Titans.  
I have the body of a lion, the wings of a bird,  
and the head of a woman.  
I am more obscure than oracles,  
and more puzzling than gods.  
I ask travellers questions that their lives depend on.""O wise one, weigh your words well and say what I am."_

"'The wings of a bird and the head of a woman'?" repeated Harpia questioningly. "I think I'd like to meet her."

"This one's too simple," said Hermione, carefully avoiding uttering the answer. "Everyone knows this…there must be a trick."

"If you know the answer," said Luna, "then say it."

"Fine," said Hermione. "The Sphinx."

The wall melted away again, in the same fashion it did after Hermione said "riddle". But this time, instead of a faintly darker walkway, there was something much more menacing.

"Maybe I wouldn't," said Harpia, adding to her previous thought.

For standing in front of them was a sphinx. It had the body of an overlarge lion: great clawed paws and a large yellowish tail ending in a brown tuft. Sprouting from behind the shoulders were great wings, practically transparent, that could blend right into her fur. Her head, however, was that of a woman. So, basically, it was just as the riddle had said.

She turned her almond-shaped eyes on the group. She spoke:

"You are very near your goal. But you must pass me to reach it."

"What is your riddle?" asked Hermione, not looking the sphinx in the face. Sadly, the razor-sharp claws were not a very pleasant sight to behold, either.

"You are well-read, then," said the sphinx. "Lucky you. You have one guess. If you are wrong, I attack. If you are silent, I will let you walk away.

"Here is my riddle:

_ "What is it that  
walks with four legs in the morning,  
with two legs at midday, and with three legs  
when the sun has gone down?"_

"That's simple," said Luna. "Obviously, it is a Whirly-Tailed—" she began, but Hermione practically attacked her, putting her hands over her mouth, and pulling back from the beast.

"How dare you!" exclaimed Luna. "I am your Queen, you don't— you shouldn't—"

"I'm sorry, Queen Luna," said Hermione apologetically. "But you must not simply answer the riddle. You may be wrong, and then—"

"But I'm not wrong!" said Luna. "The Whirly-Tailed Snorkack has four legs in the morning, two at midday, and three at night! It's the only possible answer."

"No, it's not. Besides, that's the Swirly-Tailed, remember?"

"Oh, right. That's what I meant."

"Just...let me answer."

Hermione walked back to the sphinx, where Harpia was twittering nervously against the wall. "Could you repeat your riddle?"

"Yes:

_

"What is it that  
walks with four legs in the morning,  
with two legs at midday, and with three legs  
when the sun has gone down?"

_

"Thank you."

Hermione was confuzzled, and that was a very rare thing. She couldn't help thinking that she had heard this riddle before, though she couldn't remember when. It had to be metaphorical, because riddles were not simply trivia questions that can be answered at face value. There had to be some trick.

And then she recalled something. In History of Fictional Places class, they had learned about a fictional society known as Ancient Greece. This place had great Fictional Mythology. In one such myth, Professor Buckets had said, a man named Oedipus encountered a sphinx. That sphinx's question had been very similar, if not congruent, with the one that had been asked now.

"It is a _human being_," she answered calmly, "who crawls on all fours as a baby, walks upright on two legs in middle age, and in old age stumbles along with a cane."

The sphinx nodded her great head, and melted away just as the walls had done. "Well," said Hermione. "That was oddly logical."

"This is Logica-Land, after all," said Luna sensibly.

"Exactly," countered Hermione.

"We must fly," said Harpia.

And so they flew.

**_ Author's Note_**

Well, first off, I've decided to change all the asterisks to this little symbol thingy:

——

This is because the very, very nice people at have decided that asterisks are evil, and should be stripped from all documents. I do hope, to those who are not reading this on , that you don't mind.

In other news, the pop culture contest for chapter six has now ended. I received a few responses, and only one person, (who shall remain nameless), managed to get absolutely nothing right at all (I think—there may have been two).

If you have sent in answers before the posting of this chapter, you _will_ be counted, even if I haven't sent you anything yet. I haven't had a chance to check my email or reviews in the past couple days, and someone may have submitted before this went up. Don't worry.

The answers are:

****

Pop Culture Reference Number One (1):

"They are highly nutritional and tasty breakfast foods. Eleven essential vitamins and minerals, I believe." 

This refers, of course, to Pop Tarts. However, the reference I was looking for was not the Pop Tarts themselves, but the line "eleven essential vitamins and minerals." This was said in the forty-ninth episode of the TV series "The Pretender" though I do doubt that Pop Tarts actually contain eleven. I could have sworn there were nine.

****

Pop Culture Reference Number Two (2):

"Please, Dad, don't tell me you started informing him of the nutritional benefits of Pop Tarts...""No, I _finished _informing him of the nutritional benefits of Pop Tarts,""I _asked _you not to tell me that..."

This is one of many catchphrases from the TV show "Get Smart" starring Don Adams as Agent 86, Maxwell Smart. Frankly, I'm surprised no one got it.

****

Pop Culture Reference Number Three (3):

"He likes it! Hey Mikey!" 

This is, of course, from the Life Cereal television adverts. Duh.

****

Pop Culture Reference Number Four (4):

"I've fallen and I can't get up!" 

From the Life Alert adverts. This has been made fun of in numerous different comedies and parodies. Kinda funny that the last one was from the Life _Cereal_ adverts. They must be affiliated.

****

Pop Culture Reference Number Five (5):

Alas, I forgot about this one when I made the contest. Silly me. Luckily, no one got more than three, so they didn't get anywhere near _five_.

"This is--""Good eats?""I was going to say, 'This is cinnamon, right?'...""Yes, but _that's_ another show!"

These are from the Food Network TV show "Good Eats" from which I also got the _chapter title._ I cannot believe I forgot about it. Sorry 'bout that, Chief.

And so that ends the contest. I may have future ones in the...well, future, but for now let's just keep focused on the story, eh?

Oh, and one last note to reviewer plasterwork: That's _Mister_ Pushy, to you!

**_ Next ChapterThrough the Looking-Glass_** "'I've already answered three questions, and that is enough,'  
Said his father. "Don't give yourself airs!  
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?  
Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!'"  
Lewis Carroll**_ Coming Soon_**


	10. Through the Looking Glass

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47** Part One   
Old Friends**_ "'I've already answered three questions, and that is enough,'  
Said his father. "Don't give yourself airs!  
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?  
Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!'"  
Lewis Carroll**_ Chapter Nine   
Through the Looking-Glass _**

When one is running, their surroundings tend to fly by them, and one tends to reach their goal faster than if they were, say, walking, crawling, or riding in a baby carriage. This is simply logical, you see, as you are moving faster than you would be in those circumstances.

This is why it felt odd, to Luna, Hermione, and Harpia that it was taking so very long to reach the end of the corridor. It seemed that they were going faster when they had been walking, but that was simply illogical. They were moving faster than they had been. Logically, they should reach the end.

"Do you get the feeling that this is a never-ending corridor?" asked Hermione.

"Of course it isn't a never-ending corridor," said Luna. "It just doesn't seem to come to a conclusion."

"Exactly," said Hermione. "I don't think this is—OW!"

Just as Hermione was going to express her doubt that they were doing the right thing, her face connected with something...hard. Very, very hard.

"Oh, my nose!" cried Hermione, rubbing. "Where'd this wall come from?"

For, you see, that very, very hard something was a wall. A wall that seemed to spring up in front of the three, just as the three barriers had melted away.

"What is this?" asked Luna.

"The Fourth Barrier," whispered Harpia, as if the wall would attack if it heard her. "I've never heard of this. There were only supposed to be three—"

"Maybe that sphinx wasn't supposed to be here," suggested Luna. "I never thought the Wizard would deal with cats."

"Nor did I," said Harpia.

"But there's no riddle," said Hermione. "How do we get past, if there is no riddle?"

"YOU DON'T!" came a deep, snarling voice.

Hermione spun round, trying to find the origin of the voice. It seemed to come from thin air.

"How did you do that?" asked Hermione. "There are no speakers..."

"I'm a _wizard_, you foolish girl! It's called _magic, _if you've never heard of it."

"But magic is a myth...it doesn't really exist..." said Hermione.

"Oh, really?" came the voice, which clearly belonged to the Wizard. "News to me. I could have sworn that magic was real. In fact, I could have sworn that _you_ were a witch..."

"_What are you talking about?_" Hermione asked the ceiling. "My family has been purely Muggle for—" Hermione clasped her hands over her mouth.

"See?"

Hermione put her arms over her head, blocking her ears. She didn't want to hear anymore. She saw, however, something she had never seen before.

Luna and Harpia were frozen in time. Harpia's wings were stopped in mid-flap. Luna had the oddest look on her face. It seemed as though she were just about to sneeze, but she would never be able to.

"What did you do to them?" Hermione said, taking her arms down. "Are they alive?"

"_What did you do to them?_" mocked the Wizard. "_Are they alive?_" The Wizard laughed. "Yes, they are alive. I simply wanted to see for myself if what they said is true. If you are really the brightest witch of your age..."

"I am not a witch! Witches are green and ugly!"

"And you consider yourself...what? Beautiful? You may not be green, but..."

"Shut up!"

"_Shut up!_" mocked the Wizard. "If you do not believe, I can show you."

Before Hermione could say a word, her surroundings disappeared with a _crack!_ and she found herself in a new room. She presumed that she was on the other side of the wall, with the Wizard. She looked around, and spotted a man in the centre of the room. He had shoulder-length, greasy black hair, a crooked nose, and despicable teeth.

"YOU!" cried Hermione recognition dawning.

"Well, Miss Granger," he said, smirking, "how is _spew _going these days?"

"I never thought I'd see the day," said Hermione scathingly. "Professor Snape reused a joke."

"It's one of my favourites," said Snape. "Take a seat, Miss Granger. We have all the time in the world." He conjured two hard-backed armchairs, and sat down in one himself.

Reluctantly, if only because her legs were aching, Hermione did as he asked. She took the chair opposite him, and scooted back several inches away.

"What's happening?" said Hermione, getting to business. "Why am I here?"

"How should I know?" said Snape. "Something is happening, in our world, I think. Something that could change everything."

"Voldemort?" asked Hermione. "Is he planning something?"

Snape shook his head. "I doubt it. The Headmaster said that he has a new plan, but this isn't it."

"Dumbledore?"

"No, the Wizard of Oz," said Snape sarcastically. "_Yes_, Dumbledore. What other headmaster would I mean?"

"You've seen _The Wizard of Oz?_" asked Hermione disbelievingly.

"Along with the rest of the staff," muttered Snape. "The Headmaster insisted."

"Is Dumbledore here? Does he know what's happened?"

"No, Dumbledore is not here. I can't imagine why I am, or why you are, either."

"And Luna?"

"No, it makes perfect sense that Miss Lovegood is here. She created this place, after all."

"_What?_" said Hermione. "We're in her _mind?_"

"That's not what I said. She _created it_. Involuntarily. This is just like the real world, only distorted. Logica-Land exists shoulder to shoulder with our own world, Dumbledore says."

"Then why are we here?" asked Hermione once again.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I DON'T KNOW!"

"Sorry."

"I do know, however," continued Snape icily, "that we have Doppelgangers here, or something like them. When we leave our places in this world, those who lived here before we arrived replace us . Only Miss Lovegood truly exists in both worlds."

Hermione furrowed her brow, thinking. "What else do you know?"

"I know that I first landed in this retched place four days ago. I've been taken back several times, when I least expect it. Sitting on chairs, touching doorknobs, et cetera." He took a breath before continuing. "Before you ask once again, _I don't know why_."

"I wasn't going to—" Hermione began, but she realised something. "Professor, what about the Envelope? The Envelope of Oblivion? What are we supposed to do about it?"

"I presume we must defeat it. After all, if we can enter this world, you don't know if it works both ways. I believe that the Envelope may be the reason we were sent here in the first place, but I'm not sure."

Hermione shivered, thinking of both Voldemort and the Envelope in the same world. _It would be chaos_, she thought.

"It would be chaos," she said. "But what are we to do?"

"For now," he said, "the best thing to do is to wait. Wait to be taken home, that is. I must consult Dumbledore. We thought only I'd been sent here."

"Right," said Hermione. "But how long will—"

She never got to finish her thought, or at least Snape never heard it. As sudden as a bird would fall to the ground if it forgot how to ride a bicycle, Hermione disappeared. To her home, presumably.

Snape shook his head. "Lucky girl. I've been waiting to go home for _hours_, and she _just_ finds out who she is, and—"

The walls of the nondescript room disappeared, to be replaced with those of a Potions Dungeon.

"Oh."

——

"Where'd she go?" asked Luna suddenly.

"What?" asked Harpia suddenly, falling a bit to the ground.

"Hermione Granger just...disappeared. She's gone."

"How are we going to get past, if she's gone?" asked Harpia, panicked.

"YOU DON'T!" came a deep, snarling voice.

"Who's there?" said Luna, spinning round.

"It is I, the great Wizard. What is the Queen of Logica-Land doing in my tunnel?"

"We need your help—"

"Of course you do! Everyone needs my help! I'm the Wizard."

"Sir, we—"

"ENTER!" called the voice, and the two...beings _popped _into the nondescript room. A man with shoulder-length, greasy black hair and a hooked nose stood before them. He looked vaguely familiar to Luna, but she couldn't place him.

The man took one look at Luna, before suddenly _popping_ up even closer. He stood right in front of her.

He whispered in her ear; "_Put the looking-glass on the desk,_" he hissed. "_All will be explained in time._"

"What—" began Luna, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Harpia was gone as well. Everything was gone, actually, except for the hallway with the yellow pinstriped walls and thick orange round carpet and hardwood floor, and the desk in front of her, and the comfortable, deep, royal blue chair beneath her.

——

"Harry!" called Ginny, dashing up the stairs. "Harry, where are you going?"

Ginny ran, as fast as she could, up the flights of stairs that led to where Harry was going. When she finally caught up with him, he was in Percy's room, throwing the top of his trunk back, and practically attacking the contents.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"The box," he said suddenly. "Sirius gave me a box last Christmas. He said that if I needed to contact him, if Snape was giving me a hard time at Occlumency, I could use it. I never opened it, but…I think it's a mirror."

"What?" said Ginny. "Why would you think—what—how would you know?"

"I don't know," said Harry, pulling the box out triumphantly. "It's just a feeling. I felt it downstairs. Even if I'm wrong, it could still help. I didn't use it before because of Umbridge, and everything, but now it should be safe."

Harry quickly tore open the badly wrapped, paperback-book-sized package. He was not surprised when a small, old-looking, square mirror fell out. It was very old; Harry held it up to his face and saw his own face looking back at him.

"How did you—" began Ginny, but she stopped, seeing something. "Harry, there's a note on the back."

He turned the mirror over. There on the reverse side was a scribbled note from Sirius.

_ This is two-way mirror, I've got the other one of the pair. If you  
need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in  
my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to  
use them when we were in separate detentions.  
_

Harry looked at this in awe. _How did I..._ It didn't really make any sense. How did he know it would be a mirror?

"Well?" said Ginny. "Are you going to try it?"

"Oh, right," said Harry. He held the mirror close to his face, and said in a loud, clear voice, "Sirius."

He looked down. His breath had fogged up the surface of the mirror. He wiped it clean, and he saw a familiar face that he hadn't seen since just after he had fallen into Snape's Pensieve.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed.

The face in the mirror looked exhausted. It looked up at Harry disbelievingly. "Ja—Harry?" Sirius said.

"You look as if you've seen a—" began Ginny worriedly, looking over Harry's shoulder into the mirror. Sirius cut her off.

"Ginny? What are you—"

"Are you okay, Sirius?" asked Harry anxiously. "You haven't sent any letters, and—"

"I'm holding up," said Sirius hoarsely. His face looked haunted, as if he had indeed seen a ghost. "I'm sorry, it's just…I haven't actually talked through one of these in years, and...you look so much like James..."

"Oh," said Harry.

"Why didn't you send Harry any letters?" asked Ginny.

"What are you doing there, Ginny?" replied Sirius, avoiding the question. "Shouldn't you be at the Burrow?"

"We are at the Burrow," said Harry. "I arrived this morning."

"_You're_ at the Burrow?" said Sirius disbelievingly. "I guess Dumbledore doesn't feel the need to tell me these things any more…why are you there? Shouldn't you be at Privet Drive?"

"The Dementors," said Harry. "Dumbledore said that Privet Drive wasn't safe from the Dementors, and Voldemort was in control of the Dementors, and—"

"Hang on, hang on!" said Sirius, holding a hand in front of the mirror. "Has Dumbledore told any of the Guard about this? They're still guarding the Dursley's."

"I'm–I'm sure he has," said Ginny, looking questioningly at Harry, who shrugged.

"You probably shouldn't be sure about anything, when Dumbledore's involved," said Sirius. "He hasn't been himself lately. Something's a bit off."

"Why didn't you—" tried Harry again, but was cut off.

"So, you two are friends now?" said Sirius abruptly. "After the whole incident last June?"

"What?" said Harry. "What makes you think we weren't friends before?"

"Well, it could be the fact that you never seemed to talk to her at Headquarters…you never said anything about her in your letters..." Sirius grinned. "Need I go on?"

"No, no," said Harry.

"Yes, we're...friends," said Ginny awkwardly. "Now."

Sirius quirked an eyebrow. "_Friends? _You said that rather suspiciously…has my godson finally got himself a girlfriend?"

"_What?_" said Harry and Ginny abruptly.

"How—how did you—"

"Wow," said Sirius. "I guess I'm pretty darn perceptive. When did this happen?"

"After the incident, last June," said Harry, cheeks red.

"Ah," said Sirius. "Should have guessed...oh wait! I did!"

"Don't tell anyone," said Ginny pleadingly.

Sirius looked at them confusedly. "Why? Why do you want to—" He stopped, and looked round. "Mooney's here with Tonks. I'd better go. Don't worry," he whispered. "Your secret's safe with me." He looked at them, grinning. He saluted to them. "I'd take it to the grave with me, before I'd tell."

——

"Luna?" called Ron, walking up the stairs uncertainly. "What have you been doing up here all this time? Where'd that chair come from?"

"Ronald? But you're mi—" Luna blinked, suddenly standing up. "Sorry," she said, "I must have nodded off."

"Right," said Ron. "Well, if you're tired, I guess I could…go—"

"No, no, you don't have to _leave_," said Luna hurriedly. "No, I need your help with the attic," she said pleadingly, hoping beyond hope that he would not leave.

"Oh, right," said Ron. He looked at his watch. "It's six-thirty." He grinned. "So, another nine hours would be…"

But just when it would be, they would never know. At least, not consciously. Obviously, nine hours from six-thirty is...er...oh, yes. Three-thirty. It was, however, simply a joke, and they knew without really even thinking about it that they would not still be cleaning at three-thirty in the morning.

However, the reason that they would never know when it would be is that an owl swooped into the hallway, apparently after coming up the stairs behind Ron.

"What—" Ron began, but he saw the official looking seal on the envelope.

It read,

** THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC**_ Ordinary Wizarding LevelsResults for student:  
Ronald Weasley_

"My OWL results," said Ron, gulping. "I probably got _two_…just so I could do worse than the twins…."

"Don't be absurd," said Luna, and all Ron could think about _that_ was that it was pretty darn absurd for _Luna,_ of all people, to say 'don't be absurd'. "You probably did fine."

"Yeah, right," he said, staring at the envelope.

"Are you going to open it?" asked Luna curiously.

"Oh, right…" said Ron, but he made no move to do so.

"Oh, I'll do it," said Luna impatiently, taking the envelope from Ron's hand and ripping off the seal. She unfolded the parchment inside, and looked down at it.

She frowned. "Erm, Ronald," she said, "you said you expected _two?_"

"Yes," said Ronald nervously. _Oh no, _he thought_, I got one. I know it._

"Well, you set your expectations a _bit_ low…"

__

I got three!, thought Ron.

"I got three, didn't I?"

"No, no, not three," said Luna mildly.

"Just tell me!"

"What time did you say it was?" Luna said, smiling.

"Oh, _please_, Luna."

"Six-thirty, right? Well, sorry, but you didn't get thirty..."

"I got six? Yes!" He pumped his arm in the air. "That's as much as Fred and George got _combined!_ Which ones?"

"Well," said Luna, smiling slightly at Ron who was doing a sort of funny jig, "you got a "P" in Potions, but—"

"No more Snape!" Ron said excitedly. "Yippee!"

"You got— hang on. Did you just say 'yippee'?"

"Yeah, so? I'm happy! What did I get in Charms?"

"Let me see...an 'E'."

"Yes!"

And it went on, much in this fashion, until the very last "A" in Divination. After Ron had stopped dancing, he still looked happier than Luna had seen him since he won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor.

"Wait 'til I tell Fred and George…," said Ron, "I did better than them, but not enough to make fun of. Perfect!"

Luna smiled one last time. "You still want to help with the attic? Or do you want to go home and tell your brothers?"

"What?" said Ron, as if noticing that Luna was there for the first time in minutes. "Oh, no, I can tell them some other time. It's just...wow."

"Yeah, you did really great, Ronald," said Luna.

"Thanks," he said, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe it. "Let's go."

Luna led the way up the attic stairs, and suddenly she was back in Logica-Land. Not literally; the third step to the attic was not something that would take her to her not-so-imaginary world. But she was reminded of something that had occured.

__

The man took one look at Luna, before suddenly popping up even closer. He stood right in front of her.

He whispered in her ear; "Put the looking-glass on the desk," he hissed. "All will be explained in time."

__

Put the looking-glass on the desk…

Looking-glass?

What looking-glass?

But as Luna saw, once in the attic, the space formerly occupied by the royal blue chair, she saw something very different there now. Different yet similar at the same time.

A mirror lay untouched on the wooden floor. It was oval-shaped, and had a stand attached to keep it upright. It _wasn't_ upright, but it could be. Luna looked at it, as if she had seen a ghost. Well, maybe seeing a 'ghost' wouldn't be the best word, as Luna saw ghosts everyday at Hogwarts. So maybe "Luna looked at it, as if she had seen a something that would make her face look very, very, haunted," would be better.

Luna looked at it, as if she had seen a something that would make her face look very, very, haunted.

"What is it?" asked Ron, trying to figure out what she was staring at. "Hey, wasn't a chair—"

__

Put the looking-glass on the desk.

On the desk.

Luna very nearly tripped over Ron's big feet on her way to the mirror. She picked it up, and it felt warm beneath her fingers. Dazedly, she took it down the stairs, careful not to drop it or break it.

"Luna, what—" Ron said, before following.

Stepping carefully, Luna walked around the desk and sat down in the royal blue chair once again. She was not transported to an alternate universe this time, however. She looked at the wooden desk in front of her, and carefully placed the mirror right where it always was.

The glass was covered in grey smoke. It billowed around the surface, just out of reach. Luna gazed into the mirror's depths for the second time in her life.

"Luna, what are you doing?" said Ron, out of breath, coming to stand behind her.

"Shh..." Luna wanted to know what was happening.

The smoke that covered the surface of the mirror faded away, and Luna could see a blonde witch. A very, very familiar blonde witch.

"Mum," she whispered with bated breath.

"Mum?" the witch in the mirror said. "What do you mean, 'mum'? I'm not your mother—"

"It's me, Mum. It's your little queen."

"Luna?" said the witch.

"Luna?" said Ron confuzzledly. "Your mum is _dead_, remember?"

"Shh..." Luna shushed Ron.

"How old are you?" said Cynthia Lovegood.

"Fifteen," answered Luna.

"You are?" said Ron. "I didn't know that."

"My god—what—" Cynthia stopped, looking around for a minute. "Just a second."

"Mum!" called a small, familiar voice, somewhere behind Cynthia. "Can I look into your mirror?"

Cynthia's head disappeared. "And what do you think you'll see, if you look into this mirror?"

"My _face_, of course! Obviously."

"Aha!" exclaimed Luna's mother. "You assumed!" she said. "What have I told you about assuming?"

"_Never assume..._Yeah, yeah. But of _course_ I'll see my face. What else would I see in a _mirror?_"

"Never assume, Queen Luna," said Cynthia seriously. "My mother told me, and her mother told her, and her mother told her. _Never_ assume. It just so happens that this is a special mirror. You _won't_ see your face." She paused, as if to correct a mistake. "At least, you'll _probably_ not see your face. You _might_."

"Let me see!"

__

Déjà vu, thought Luna. _Déjà vu_.

**_ Author's Note_**

First off, I'd like to apologise for the delay in this chapter's posting. My computer decided to, you know, blow up (figuratively), and I couldn't log onto the internet. It's been fixed, and it shouldn't cause another delay. The only reason chapters might not be posted in a timely fashion would be if I get another case of writer's block, but things are looking good so far.

Also, before you complain about my interpretation of OWL results, saying I neglected the two different parts of the tests, let me _explain_ my interpretation of OWL results. I believe that if you get an 'O' on both parts of the test, you get two OWLs in that subject. If not, you get one. You may complain, but this is the only way I can see it being fair; otherwise someone could get twelve 'A's and it would be just as good as someone who got twelve 'O's.

Also, in the English versions of the books, OWL is not spelt O.W.L. as it is in the American, which is why I spelt it as such. Any words that seem a bit funny to you are probably using the English spelling. Such as 'duelling' which only has one 'l' in America.

To reviewer Ari, I'll get that wallpaper to you as soon as I can.

Review. And if you read this when another chapter's already up, _read_ and review, after you review. That way you review on all the chapters, instead of just once. Or if there isn't another chapter already posted, just, you know, review. Tell me what you think. Ask a question about something that confuzzles you. I'm sure something does. If I can, I will answer as truthfully as possible. If I can't, well..._I must not tell lies..._

See you next chapter! :)

Yes, that was a colon and a parenthesis. What else would it be?

**_ Next ChapterBelieve in Yesterday_** "Remember that the Mirror shows many things, and not all have yet come to pass.  
Some never come to be, unless those that behold the visions turn aside from their path to prevent them."   
J.R.R. Tolkien**_Coming Soon_**


	11. Believe in Yesterday

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47** Part One  
Old Friends**_ "Remember that the Mirror shows many things, and not all have yet come to pass.  
Some never come to be, unless those that behold the visions turn aside from their path  
to prevent them."  
J.R.R. Tolkien**_ Chapter Ten  
Believe in Yesterday _** __

"Let me see!" said Luna, wishing her mother would hurry up and give in. They wasted so much time, sometimes.

"All right, all right," agreed her mother. "But be careful!"

"Of course."

Cynthia hoisted her daughter off the floor, and sat her on her lap. Just as she looked at the mirror, Luna saw an image fade away. It had been a blond, teenage witch, and she looked extraordinarily familiar...

"Mum, was that you?" asked Luna, bending her head around to look at her mother.

"Yes," Cynthia said. "That was me, when I was at Hogwarts. The year I fell in love with your father, actually." Luna giggled once again. "So, are you going to look at yourself, or just sit there giggling?"

Luna looked down at the mirror in awe, realising that her mother had lied to her. It _hadn't _been Cynthia Lovegood in the mirror, the year she had fallen in love with London Lovegood. It had been _her._ Luna. Right now.

The mirror Luna stared into clouded over once again, as her younger self looked into it. Luna remembered that day as if it were...yesterday.

She had seen her mother's funeral. She had heard that voice; the voice that she heard in her dreams; the voice that she heard when she neared a Dementor.

__

"We are gathered here today, in remembrance of Cynthia Lovegood..."

She had seen her mother's funeral before it happened, and that had haunted Luna Lovegood for six years. But there was something that haunted her more.

She could have stopped it.

She could have saved her mother's life; she just knew it.

After a few moments, Luna saw the smoke fade once again. Cynthia Lovegood's face reappeared in Luna's view.

"What is going on?" asked her mother calmly. Perhaps too calmly, as if she was nearly frantic.

"I have no idea," said Luna in amazement. "Something…Logica…it's all so confuzzling."

"But you're all grown up!" said Cynthia in disbelief. "And this mirror...you're not supposed to be able to _converse_ through it..."

"Well, I'm looking at the mirror too," said Luna. "Maybe if both people are physically looking in the mirror, they can talk to each other?"

"I don't know."

"Whashedeahow?" said Ron, which meant "What's going on? She's dead. How is this happening?"

"Who's that with you?" asked Cynthia.

"Oh, this is Ronald—"

"Ronald _Weasley?_" asked Cynthia happily. "Oh, are you two dating? I've always thought…"

"Erm, no—"

"No!" said Ron blushingly, remembering his early-morning conversation with his mother. "We're not—we're just—"

"Friends?" suggested Cynthia with a grin. "Yes, that's what London and I always said…"

Ron continued to redden, thankful that neither Lovegood witch was looking at him.

"Mum," said Luna, not exactly used to saying 'mum' while addressing someone anymore. "What's going on?"

"I thought we already established that we have no clue whatsoever," said Cynthia.

"Oh, right."

Thoughts buzzed round Luna's head faster and more steadily than a very fast motorboat that, by some stroke of luck, managed to move steadily. Millions of questions raced, trying to be the first to reach her mouth. But, as you know, it is quite often impossible to decide which question to ask first, when you have wanted to ask someone lots of questions for a very long time. So, as if a big road block had been put up inside Luna's mind, none of the questions ever made it to her mouth. Only a simple statement.

"But," said Luna, not really even comprehending her surroundings, "you're dead."

"What?" asked Cynthia as if she heard wrong, which she didn't. "I could have sworn you said I was—"

"Dead, yes," said Luna, nodding.

"I'm _dead?_" asked Cynthia disbelievingly. "How can I be dead?"

"You died," said Luna simply, quietly.

"But—but—I'm dizzy," she said, putting a hand to her forehead. "You're saying I'm _dead_. I _died_. When did I die? I'm going to die..."

"Six years..." muttered Luna quietly, realising something.

"Six _years?_" said Cynthia. "I have six years left, _knowing_ I'm going to die...Hang on. Isn't six years...you'll be...fifteen. You mean I _just_ died? I just died?"

"No, you didn't just—you died a long time ago."

"When?" said the face in the mirror, who was leaning so close that Luna could see her mother's breath fogging up the surface.

"Like I said. Six years."

Comprehension dawned in Cynthia Lovegood's eyes. "I'm going to die...now?"

"Well, not _now_," said Luna. "You're not just about to drop dead from—"

"Talking to my daughter's future self? No, I'm pretty sure no-one's ever died from that. Though I doubt anyone's lived to tell about it, either."

"No, I mean—" A pause. "Listen, Mum," said Luna quickly. "You don't have to die—"

"Oh, so now I can _choose?_ Hey, how am I supposed to know you're really my daughter, anyway? What if you're a Dark wizard, trying to trick me?"

"Mum. It's _me_. _Don't doubt this. _I don't know how this is happening, and I don't know why. But it's _me._"

"Prove it."

Luna let out a breath. She closed her eyes. Ron could see a tear forming, but Luna made no move to swipe it away. "Okay then. I was born at four-nineteen in the morning, on the ninteenth of April. You always said that I was special, because wizarding births usually can be predicted down to the hour. I was supposed to be born the day before, but I was late. You always said that..." She wiped away the tear now, but more came to her eyes. "You always said that you and Daddy had been so worried, that something had happened to me. When I came out, you said, you said Daddy and you wouldn't let the mediwitches take me away. You said that...that I was your _queen_."

By now both witches had been reduced to tears, and Ron didn't know what he was supposed to do with himself. This seemed a bit more like a mother-daughter moment than a mother-daughter-and-long-lost-friend kind of moment, to him at least.

"It _is_ you, isn't it, Queen Luna?" said Cynthia through tears.

"It's me."

"How can you help me?" asked Cynthia. "I don't want to lose you. I don't want to make you sad..."

"The envelope," said Luna hurriedly, getting to the point. "You were...charming an envelope. A special one. For—"

"For carrying spells," finished Cynthia, nodding. "Yes, I was just going to try a—"

"Don't," said Luna. "Don't do whatever you did. Don't do what you're going to do. That's what did it. Something backfired."

"That's absurd," said Cynthia dismissively. "I've been using these spells for years. It must have been something else—"

"It _was _the envelope," said Luna. She shivered. "Believe me. I don't know everything, but I _saw it_."

"But—"

"Just don't—"

"Wait," said Cynthia, backing away from the mirror for a moment. She leaned back in. "Luna's—you're back."

"Yes, I remember," said Luna, nodding. "Just don't—" she said again, only to be cut off again.

"I won't," swore Cynthia Lovegood, before the familiar grey smoke returned to the mirror's surface.

"What," said Ron cautiously, "just happened?"

"I have no idea," said Luna. "I just hope it's good."

They stared, neither moving, at the now empty mirror.

——

"Excuse me, sir," said Percy Weasley, peeking his head into the Minister's office. "You summoned me?"

"Yes, Weasley," said Cornelius Fudge.

"What for, sir?"

"I need a scribe for a very important meeting," said the Minister. "And I feel you're the perfect person for the job."

"Really?" said Percy humbly. "Well, I suppose I can lend my skills to suit a bigger purpose." He smiled. "When is it?"

"Why, right now, of course!" said Fudge, walking over and thumping Percy on the back, ushering him into an antechamber off of the office.

"N-now?" asked Percy, swallowing.

"Yes, of course."

"But I haven't got my—"

"Quill? Oh, we'll give you one. Just be sure to take _everything_ down _exactly_." He looked at the younger man conspiringly. "_You-Know-Who _has decided to 'meet with me', as he puts it. He turned himself in to the guard in the lobby," he whispered.

"What!" cried Percy, jumping back from the Minister, frowning. "But you said You-Know-Who was—"

"What? Oh not _You-Know-Who_," said Fudge dismissively. "I mean you know who'll be there."

"I do?"

"Yes, you do."

Percy had a very small idea as to what was going on about him.

After going through a door in the antechamber to an anteroom off of it, they found themselves in a small, round room with no windows. A round table sat in the middle, and one man was already seated at it. He gazed at the two as they entered, looking the slightest bit surprised to see Percy.

It was, however, nothing compared to how surprised Percy was to see _him_.

"Dumbledore!" cried the younger man disbelievingly. "_He's_ You-Know-Who?" Percy said to Fudge.

"Yes, who did you think?"

"I assure you, Mr Weasley, I am _not_ Voldemort," said Dumbledore amiably. The two other wizards flinched. "I may have been slandered a bit by...the press. But I don't believe they've ever made that particular insinuation."

"I mean—what are you, of all people, doing in the Ministry?"

"As I said," said Fudge. "Professor—I mean, Dumbledore has turned himself in at last. I daresay the constant tailing of the Aurors has finally got to him," he said self-importantly.

But Dumbledore did not look as if anything had 'got to him'. He looked as calm as he ever looked, and he most certainly didn't look as though he was tired of being on the run. He did not appear to have _been_ on the run. He looked just like normal, the only difference being the absent twinkle in his eyes.

"I'd dare no such thing," said Dumbledore. "And as I've said repeatedly, I have not turned myself in. I have come to discuss something with you. And then I will take my leave."

"Well?" he said to Percy, ignoring Dumbledore. "Why aren't you writing this down?"

"I don't have my—"

"Here is a quill," volunteered Dumbledore, holding one up. "I found it just lying around on the table, and—shame on an old man's habits—I picked it up for myself."

"Th-thank you," said Percy awkwardly, taking the feathered writing utensil from his former Headmaster.

"Now that that's out of the way," said Fudge, pulling a chair out. "We can begin discussing whatever it is you insist on discussing."

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore. He looked questioningly at Percy. "Care to sit down?"

"Oh, right," said Percy, pulling up a chair of his own. He conjured a piece of parchment to use, and wrote on it in a neat script, _Wonderful. Care to sit down?_

The meeting began.

"Cornelius," began Dumbledore, "you are aware of the fact that the Dementors have revolted?"

"Yes," said Fudge. "It is quite a shame. We have no sure cause at the moment, but we are working on the—"

"I told you this would happen," said Dumbledore. "You didn't listen."

"What?" said Fudge confusedly. "Are you saying that—"

"Voldemort is behind the revolt, yes," said Dumbledore seriously.

Fudge shook his head. "No. I refuse to even entertain the thought. There is no proof of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return, as I've told you numerous times, other than the testimony of a fourteen—"

"Fifteen," corrected Dumbledore. "Harry is fifteen now, and is going to be sixteen in two weeks."

"Whatever. Nothing but the testimony of a _fifteen_-year-old. Oh, right. That and a barmy old headmaster who's been on the run for half a year." Fudge smirked. "Of course, he is no longer on the run, as he has turned himself in. I can't get enough of that…."

"Good for you, Cornelius. You finally have the nerve to tell me what you think to my face," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Very Hufflepuff of you—honesty, you know."

"I—" began Fudge, outraged.

Dumbledore raised his hand. "I mean it in no way as an insult. I would never do such a thing."

Fudge closed his mouth.

"Yes. Right," he said. He swallowed. "Is that all, Dumbledore? I have a—"

"No, actually," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "As you seem to feel the need to put the wizarding world at risk every day, I would like to make sure you take proper care of those close to you. How is dear Dolores doing?"

Fudge's mouth became a very fine line. "Ms Umbridge is still recovering from her... incident last year. You don't happen to know how she found herself in the middle of a pack of Centaurs, do you Dumbledore? Or at least, how she got out?"

"Not a clue," said Dumbledore smiling. "So she will most definitely not be returning to her posts at school? Quite the person to have to replace. I certainly hope Minerva—and yourself, of course—have someone suitable in mind." He looked questioningly at the Minister.

"Er… yes. We have… been scouting. Myself, mostly. Your precious Deputy Headmistress doesn't seem to take her job very seriously, you know. She has scarcely turned up at our meetings."

Dumbledore's mouth quirked up a bit. "I'm sure she has good reason. But what about the other post?"

"Hmm?"

"The High Inquisitor? Surely whoever you find will not be… up to the task of both the Defence position _and_ the Inquisitor?"

"I… er… hadn't thought of that," admitted Fudge grudgingly.

"I had assumed so," said Dumbledore, not disrespectfully. He cast a glance at Percy, who was trying to remember if there was supposed to be a space after an elipses, before saying, "I have someone in mind that…may be up to the job."

——

Luna and Ron still sat staring at the empty mirror.

"What just happened?" asked Ron once again, though he didn't really expect an answer this time. He just couldn't believe it, and it seemed he had to be saying _something_. Asking a question seemed the only thing he could do, for some reason. "What just happened?"

"I _said_ I don't know, Ronald," said Luna.

"Oh right; what just happened?"

Luna realised that Ron wasn't about to stop anytime soon. But why should he? It was probably just as confuzzling to him as it was to her, if not more so. _He_ didn't know what the mirror was. She tried to replay the events from his perspective: first she charges down the attic stairs with a mirror in her hands, slamming it (carefully) onto a desk. _That is a bit peculiar_, she mentally admitted.

Then, her _dead mother _appears in said mirror. _Yes, that must have been confuzzling. It was confuzzling to _me_ and I understand it much more._

"What just happened?" said Luna now.

"I don't know," said Ron. "I wonder if—"

"Hello?" said London Lovegood, walking up the stairs. "I was wondering where—" He turned round once at the top, and saw the two friends behind the mirror. "Wha—what are you doing?" he said, an edge to his voice.

"Nothing," said Luna, standing up from the royal blue chair.

"Yeah, we were just—?" Ron said, looking questioningly at Luna.

London stood, staring at the back of the mirror. After a few moments, his face relaxed and he let out a breath.

"I'm sorry, I just…I haven't seen that particular mirror in…a long time. Caught me off guard." He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath and let it out again. "I'll just be—well. It's getting rather late," he said. "Ronnie, I'm sure you're hungry again by now."

"I just had a—" He began, but he realised that the sandwich Mr Lovegood had made him had been…how long ago?

"What time did you say it was?" asked Ron, looking at his watch.

"I didn't," said London, smiling. "But, as you can see, it's eight o'clock."

"It couldn't be," said Luna, shaking her head.

"_Eight?_" repeated Ron disbelievingly, tapping his watch. It had to be lying. They hadn't spent _that much time_ talking about OWL results and...well, Luna talking to her dead mum.

"That's what I said," said London, nodding. "You've hardly eaten all day, and I thought you might like a snack before you—" He stopped short.

"Ronnie," he continued, "do you have to _walk_ all the way to the...Burrow, it was called, yes?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. It shouldn't take that long—"

"Nonsense!" said London. "We have a remarkably comfy couch, if I do say so myself, and you can make a nice, rested trip home in the morning."

"No," said Ron. "I can go home now. Besides, Mum's probably worried. I've been gone all day—"

"That's what owls are for, silly!" said London.

"It couldn't hurt," said Luna, nodding slightly at the mirror.

"Wha—?" said Ron, looking at Luna, confuzzled. Then it clicked. "Oh. I guess I could—"

"Of _course_ you could," said London. "So let's have that snack!"

——

Ginny sat on her bed, sadly having nothing better to do than listen to the wireless, which was now playing _The Night Before _by guess who? Right! By The Beatles.

Which, for no particular reason, reminded her of a question that Harry had asked her earlier.

__

Where's Ron?

She had not heard anything of him all day. Harry obviously did not seem to know either, and Mum seemed to artfully avoid the subject. She decided to ask.

Ginny turned round and walked back out on the landing, and then down the stairs.

Coming into the kitchen, she saw Mrs Weasley was seated at the table, sipping a cup of tea.

"Ah, Ginny," she said. "I thought you'd gone up to your room."

"I did," said Ginny. "But I wanted to know—where's Ron? I haven't seen him all day."

"Oh, Ron…" said Mrs Weasley, clearly trying to think of something to say. "Well, he left early this morning, and went for a walk…"

"Ron went for a _walk?_" said Ginny disbelievingly. "But he's been gone all day! What if something happened to him?"

"I'm sure nothing happened to him," said Mrs Weasley.

"Then why hasn't he come back?"

"Good question…"

At that moment an owl swooped down into the kitchen of the Burrow from one of the windows above the sink.

"I'll get it," said Mrs Weasley needlessly, taking the letter from the owl's leg and giving it a pat on the head.

"Ah, would you look at that...it's from Ron. What a coincidence."

The letter read:

Mum,

Hello. After walking for a bit, I decided I'd go see...well, you know who.  
Well, her dad said that I shouldn't walk home at this hour, so I'm going to kip on the couch here and walk back in the morning. Don't worry.

See you tomorrow.

Ron

"You see?" said Mrs Weasley. "Ron's perfectly fine, and he'll be back in the morning." She took a sip of her tea. "No reason to worry."

"Whose dad?" asked Ginny curiously. "Ron's at a girl's house?"

"Erm...yes," said Mrs Weasley reluctantly. "But that's all I'm saying."

"But—" began Ginny. "But what girl lives close enough for Ron to _walk_ to? For _Ron_ to walk to?"

"I said I'm not saying anything," said Mrs Weasley, sipping her tea. She looked up at the clock. "Oh, look at that. It's time for me to go to bed."

Indeed, Molly's hand on the Weasley clock was indeed on "Bedtime!" Mrs Weasley put her mug in the sink and hurried away from her daughter, up the stairs.

"The only girl who lives near us is—" Ginny's eyes widened. "It couldn't be…"

**_ Authors' Note_**Here ends part one of Believe in Yesterday. Taken a while, hasn't it?Part Two, "Crossing the Rubicon" will begin with the next chapter.Review.Please? 


	12. The Sky is Falling

Believe in Yesterday

_Potter47_

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**Part Two  
Crossing the Rubicon**

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"Believe it or not."  
Robert Leroy Ripley

**_Chapter Eleven  
The Sky is Falling_**

"Mum?" asked Luna cautiously, returning to the hallway from her doorway. She held her stuffed Snorkack—Snorky—in her hands, clutching it to her chest.

"Yes, baby?" asked Cynthia worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"It's just…" Luna thought of what she'd seen. _We are gathered here today, in remembrance of..._ She shook her head to clear it. She didn't _want _to think of what she had seen. But she couldn't help it.

Mum's going to die.

"What is it?" asked Cynthia, looking into her daughter's eyes. "It's not about the...mirror, is it?"

Luna nodded. "I saw something—something bad."

"You—you did?" asked Cynthia in a high-pitched voice. "Did...did you see yourself losing Snorky?" she asked hopefully, wishing that would be all.

"No, not like _that_," said the little girl. "Something...really bad."

Cynthia swallowed.

"Well, you can tell me about it," she said. "I'm all ears."

...in remembrance of Cynthia Lovegood...

"No," said Luna assertively. "No, I—never mind."

She made to take a step back to her room, but Cynthia grabbed her arm.

"You'll tell me when you're ready, won't you?" she asked, holding the small arm lightly.

Will she be alive_ when I'm ready to tell her? I should tell her! It could...do something..._

"Yes," said Luna, nodding. "If I can."

Cynthia smiled slightly. "Good. Now where's that father of yours?"

Luna pointed her left arm down the stairs. "He said he's doing something for work."

"Thank you," said Cynthia, standing up. Luna scuttled backwards into her room, closing the door with a last glance at her mother. "Goodnight," Cynthia said quietly, as the door shut.

——

Luna lay on her bed, hugging Snorky with all of her being. She could not seem to fall to sleep. It was as if something were preventing it; like a person was constantly pouring water on her head without her noticing.

"What's going to happen, Snorky?" she whispered. He did not answer. Like usual.

"I'm scared," said Luna. "I don't want Mum to die. Why is she going to die, Snorky?"

Silence.

Luna tried singing the lullaby her daddy always used to sing. She had the feeling it wasn't a real lullaby. _Anything can be a lullaby,_ she reasoned. It usually helped, at least.

She sang softly, so as not to wake Snorky, who she now thought might just be asleep.

"_Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither wildly as they slip away, across the universe._"

She took a breath, as her father always did. "_Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind, possessing and caressing me,_" she sang, though she paused, just like she always did. She never could say the next words like her daddy did. They were too hard. She skipped them.

"_Nothing's gonna change my world,_" she continued. "_Nothing's gonna change my world. Nothing's gonna change my world. Nothing's gonna change my..._," she paused, yawning, "..._world._

"Goodnight, Snorky," Luna murmured sleepily, before slipping away into the nightmares that would accompany her through the night.

——

  
  
"_Nothing's gonna change my world_," Luna murmured sleepily, eyes opening slightly. She looked round, blinking. 

Where am I? she thought, staring at the purple table cloth next to her head. She blinked once again. 

Dreaming, she thought, sitting up while still holding on to the worn Snorky in her hands for dear life. _It was a dream. Mum's dead. She died six years ago._

Luna took a deep breath, letting it out once again. _What time is it?_ she thought, looking at the clock on her bedside table. The hands pointed at the four and the twelve.

Twelve-twenty. She took another breath, closing her eyes. _Four hours. Six years._

Luna laid back on her pillow, feeling the soft fur of Snorky between her fingers. He was, she realised, just about the only thing that hadn't changed at all, since that day. It seemed everything else in her life had been turned upside-down. Well, technically Snorky too had been turned upside-down, but he had been righted within moments, every time.

Distantly, Luna heard sleep calling her. She settled into the bed more comfortably, holding Snorky for assurance.

"_Nothing's gonna change my world,_" she whispered, just noticing the tears in her eyes as they wet the pillow case. "_Nothing's gonna change my world._"

——

Luna's eyes snapped open. She did not know why, but she had awoken very suddenly.

Sitting up in bed, the nine-year-old looked round her room. Everything seemed to be the same as usual. The green table cloth on the tarnished yellow nightstand, the blue bedspread at her feet, Snorky in her hands.

What woke me up? she wondered. Letting her legs dangle off the side of the bed, she adjusted to wakefulness. Luna stood on her soft rug and stretched a little, beginning to feel awake once more.

She tip-toed towards the door, clinging to Snorky. Peeking her head out the door, she heard voices downstairs.

"Shh!" she told Snorky, holding a finger over her mouth. "We don't want them to know we're up!"

Still tip-toeing, she made her way to the stairs and paused about halfway down. Kneeling, she peered over the rail.

"_The sky is falling,_" she heard London whisper frightfully.

"What?" asked Cynthia, sitting in an armchair and reading a large volume. "Did you say that the—"

"Yes," said London breathlessly. "It's happening."

Luna held her breath. _This can't be good_, she thought.

"What are you talking about, London?" asked Cynthia again. "The sky can't—"

"Not _literally_," said London, peering inside the report from which he was getting these facts. "Our bimonthly columnist—Jake, you know? The one that never seems to get something wrong?"

"The one with the hat?"

London didn't hear her. "He says that something is brewing in our world that hasn't happened for generations, maybe longer."

"You mean the sky has fallen before?" asked Cynthia with a quirked eyebrow. But she looked anxious, Luna noticed. Luna didn't like it when her mother looked anxious; it scared her.

"I said it wasn't literal," said London, scanning the report.

"But what exactly is going to happen?" said Cynthia.

"Let me see…," London said, his finger moving along the lines of text. "Time is going to collapse upon itself. Everything that has happened will be undone."

"Does that mean you might be able to scrape up a better OWL score?" teased Cynthia.

"This is serious, Cynthia," said London seriously. "Everything could change. In a heartbeat. What if You-Know-Who is alive again? Really alive? What if he never was defeated?"

"London, that could never—" began Cynthia, but she stopped. Her face turned pale. "London, when is this supposed to...well, happen?"

"Soon," said London. "Jake wasn't sure when."

"How exactly did _Jake_ learn about this? He doesn't strike me as a...well, a _person_, really. Always going around like…without shoes. And that hat! Who's crazy idea was that _hat? _No, he doesn't seem like a person to me. Better not trust him with that bimonthly column…" said Cynthia. It was clear she was trying to take her mind off of the actual subject.

"_I_ gave him that hat, for Christmas a couple years back, remember?" said London softly. "Cynthia, I don't know how Jake caught wind of this. But he _did_. He's got connections, I guess. I see it as a warning. I don't think we should do anything out of the ordinary for a while. Just stick to what we always do. You do your experiments, I'll work on the articles. And Luna plays tea-party, with Snorky. Don't talk with anyone new."

"R—right," said Cynthia, an odd look on her face. Luna knew that look. It was only on her mother's face when she said something that she was not sure about. Clearly, she was not sure about this being "right."

"I think I'll...head up to bed," Luna heard her mother say. Luna scuttled backwards, toward her door, but London stopped Cynthia.

"Love you," he said. "Be careful."

"I love you too, London," she said, smiling slightly. "I will."

Luna closed her bedroom door, and climbed up into bed. She thought about what she had heard. Before long, these thoughts drifted into a troubled sleep, and Luna was once again among her dreams.

——

Luna awoke once again, an odd feeling in her chest. Something, she felt, simply was not right.

In the darkness of her room, she could make out the shapes of her wardrobe, her nightstand, and she could just barely see her window. Usually, the window was more visible, but tonight the sky was darker than she ever remembered it.

There was no moon.

Luna never liked it when there was no moon in the sky. It gave her the eerie feeling that the sky was sneaking up on her. She couldn't see anything, so there was no reason to assume it all was normal. She shivered. It made her think that the sky might be falling.

Standing up, Luna walked over to the aforementioned window, and gazed out at the quiet street. None of the houses had any lights on, except for one down the very end of the street, in which she was quite sure the occupant had fled the country, leaving all of the lights on by mistake.

Staring out across the universe, Luna felt sleep overcome her once again. She collapsed on the window sill, her head in her arms.

She didn't see the clock on her bedside table. She didn't look at her clock, and she didn't know what time it was.

She didn't know that the clock read four-_nine_teen.

——

Awakening once again, Luna could feel something was very, very wrong.

"Mum?" she murmured softly. "Mum, where are you?" Of course, she did not really expect anyone to answer, as she was alone in her room, but with Snorky for company. Well, technically she had other stuffed animals for company as well, but none of them were nearly as close to her as Snorky was. Literally or figuratively. He was her very best animal friend. She loved him with all her heart.

We are gathered here today...

Luna scrambled out of bed, clutching the flashlight her father had made sure was beside her, in case of emergencies. She may only have been nine years old, but she could feel this was an emergency.

...in remembrance...

Tip-toeing to her door, Luna felt what she knew was called déjà vu. But, she realised, she _had _tip-toed to her door before. Earlier that night, in fact. But she remembered holding the flashlight, which she had not touched in a long time, and had most certainly never tip-toed with it in the middle of the night before. So it was déjà vu.

...of Cynthia Lovegood...

The words rang through Luna's head so loud that she could swear she must have been right next to the man who was speaking them. But she was not. She didn't even know _who_ was speaking them. She had never seen the face. Only the deep voice. The voice which had haunted all her thoughts since she had looked into that mirror.

Clasping the doorknob, Luna pulled it gently so that the hinges would not creak. She did not want to wake anyone else up with her night time wandering. She just wanted to make sure they were both okay. Mum especially.

Luna shined the beam of the flashlight on the wooden floorboards of the hallway. She could see the thick orange carpet on the floor. Walking forwards slightly, Luna realised she had forgotten Snorky. She doubled back, quickly and quietly, and re-emerged with the stuffed animal in one hand, flashlight in the other.

Walking onto the rug, she felt the familiar feel of it beneath her bare feet. It felt oddly cold in the hallway, despite it being the middle of July. She shivered in her nightdress, clutching Snorky to her. The beam of light moved slowly along the floor in front of her.

Finally, she could see the bottom of the door to her mother's room. No, not her bedroom. _Her_ room. The room in which she did her experiments. Luna did not know why, but she now felt that her mother was awake, and out of bed. The only place she would go was her room.

Slowly but surely, Luna made her way to the door. She felt that there was a weight in her chest, something telling her to go back to bed. But she couldn't go back to bed, not now. Not when her hand was already on the doorknob...

Turning her hand with Snorky under her shoulder, Luna put the flashlight ahead of her before she took a step in. For some reason, however, the light went out as soon as it past the threshold, and Luna was blinded in the darkness.

"Luna?" came a muffled voice.

"Mum!" said Luna excitedly.

She had not known what she was expecting, but she was glad to hear her mother's voice. Some part of her told her this was wrong; that she wasn't _supposed_ to hear her mother's voice. But she completely ignored that part of herself, stepping into her mother's room.

"Mum?" she asked uncertainly, gazing upon a weeping figure in a chair.

"It's me, baby," said Cynthia Lovegood from the chair. She looked up, and Luna saw that her face was covered in tears.

"What's wrong, Mum?" asked Luna apprehensively. "Why are you crying?"

"Come here," said Cynthia, patting an empty space on the large chair beside her. Luna moved forward cautiously. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

"I was scared," said Luna, sitting down on the soft chair. "I thought you were gone."

"No, I'm right here, baby," said Cynthia, hugging her daughter with all of her strength. "I'm not going anywhere." From close up, despite the darkness, Luna could see tears sparkling on her mother's face.

"Why are you crying?" she asked again. "Did something happen?"

"No," said her mother. "Nothing happened. Something was going to happen, but it didn't..."

"Something was _going_ to happen?" asked Luna confuzzledly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" began Cynthia, but she stopped. "I don't really know what I mean. I just know that everything's perfectly okay. I've told you about guardian angels, right?"

"What was it?" repeated Luna, not caring about guardian angels in the least, at the moment. This was her mum. She was alive. That was all that mattered.

"It was…well. Something was going to happen, like I said. Something bad." She sniffled. "But there's no sense talking about it. It didn't happen, and that's all that matters."

Luna put her hand on her mother's. "You'll tell me when you're ready, won't you?" she asked, holding the larger hand lightly.

"Yes," said Cynthia, smiling through her tears. "If I can."

"You can," said Luna confidently. "I know it."

Cynthia gathered her daughter up in her arms once again, her cheek on the small girl's head. "I love you so much, my Queen," she said.

"I love you too," said Luna.

"And I'm not going anywhere," said Cynthia again. "I'm going to be here as long as you need me. And even after that, when I annoy you. And even after that, when you're married, and have children of your own, I'll be at your house everyday. And when your children have children, and..."

"I get it," said Luna, smiling. "You're not going anywhere."

"I'm not going anywhere," repeated Cynthia.

For the longest time, the two just sat next to each other on that large chair, looking at each other's faces. Luna saw herself in her mother in a way she never had before. It was as if she was looking in a mirror that showed herself when she grew up. If she had lighter hair, at least.

Something in her chest, once again, told her that all was not right. Her mother was supposed to be dead; she had already thought of her as dead. Since the mirror, Luna had given up hope that her mother would be there ever again. Now that that little prophecy had been proved wrong, Luna did not want to listen to her gut again for a while. This had to be right, right? Everyone was happy. _Except Dad,_ she realised_, he's slept through the whole thing._

"After all," said Cynthia eventually, breaking the silence at last. "'tis not _right_ for a subject to abandon her Queen."

"No," said Luna. "No, it's not."

**_Authors' Note _**

Once again, it may be awhile before the next chapter goes up. You may have noticed it has taken awhile for _this_ chapter to go up.

The delay is for one of two reasons:

1.) It is really very mean to have a delay after this chapter.

2.) I've been working a lot on other things, like my story "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince" which you can find in my profile, so I haven't worked on this very much. Also, there have been numerous other short-stories, like my SiYE contest entry, and original short, the illogically nonsensical story "Illogical Nonsense" (which can be found on and ) In addition to this, I have added (or am about to add, if you are reading this as soon as it goes online) lots of parodies to my site, Polyjuice Parodies, which can be found at www.polyjuiceparodies.tk. While waiting for the next chapter, you should go check them out (they aren't stories, however; they are Potterized pictures and logos from otherwise non-related topics like TV shows, movies, books, and the entirely new category _games._)

So, once again, it will be a while before I post the—

**_Next Chapter_****_  
The Fire and the Rose _**

**__**

**__**

**__**

**__**

**__**"Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say:  
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?"  
Edward FitzGerald 

**_Coming Soon _**

Wait patiently. And review. Please.


	13. The Fire and the Rose

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47** Part Two  
Crossing the Rubicon**_ "Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say:  
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?"Edward FitzGerald**_ Chapter Twelve  
The Fire and the Rose _**

Luna awoke on her right side, her head comfortably resting on her soft pillow. For a few moments, she simply lay there, savouring the scent of the warm summer air around her.

Her eyes blinked open, unfocused. Her room was bright, the sun shining in through the sole, open window.

She reached her left hand up to her nightstand, where a half-full glass of water stood, just like always. Dad always snuck it into her room in the middle of the night, if she forgot to get it herself, so that she would not go thirsty during the night.

__

That's not all he did tonight, she realised_. I fell asleep by the window last night. He must have put me into the bed, like he used to do when I was little._

After taking a sip of the water, Luna offered some to Snorky, but he declined, just as he always did.

Taking care to not spill any of the remaining water, Luna finally got to her feet. She slid her feet into the fuzzy-Snorkack slippers on the floor, and placed the glass on the green-covered nightstand.

__

Green? thought Luna idly, quirking her head quizzically at the tablecloth_. That doesn't seem right._

Shaking her head, Luna made her way to the bedroom door. She doubled back for her dressing gown, remembering that Ronald was downstairs.

When she emerged into the living room, however, she did not see Ronald on the sofa as she had expected. In fact, the entire downstairs seemed to be deserted.

Sitting down on the couch, she put her chin on her hand, and thought, _He must have left already. I didn't realise he was that desperate to leave. He _did_ want to go last night, but why did he agree? He could have slept in his own, comfy, attic—oh. But he could have at least left a _note!_ He just got up and left at—what time _is_ it?_

She looked at the clock above the fireplace. _Seven o'clock,_ it said. It _actually_ did; Dad did not like the Wizarding clocks, which said "You're Late" or "Embarrassed." Or, even more, he hated the ones with twelve hands and planets and such. They were far too complicated, he said.

But as she saw the time, she looked down and saw the pictures that stood on the mantel. Photographs, both magic and Muggle. She saw the familiar baby pictures, the individual pictures of both her parents, and she saw a picture of herself in a flowered dress, taken when she was...four, she thought.

But, unfamiliar, was the photo in the centre of the mantelpiece. It was a large, magical shot, and Luna could see all three of the Lovegoods within its frame. Her eyes still had not fully adjusted to the brightness, but she _swore_ that she saw a fourth head, right next to her own. She stood up and walked round the coffee table to get a better look.

She peered closer to the photograph, and saw that the occupants were grouped round a campfire, smiling at the camera, which seemed to have been set on a timer of some sort, so that everyone could get into the shot. London Lovegood sat next to Cynthia on the right side of the picture, the former with an arm around the latter's shoulders. They both smiled merrily at the camera, and made funny faces while the other wasn't looking. London was roasting a marshmallow on a long twig.

On the other side of the photograph, however, sat Luna herself, nearest to the centre. She smiled slightly at the camera, hair tied up at the back of her head so that it stayed neatly away from the flames.

Next to her, there was indeed a fourth face. It was one she knew well, of course, as she had met the accompanying person years and years ago. He smiled joyously at the camera, though his eyes looked a little more…distressed, than Luna's parents' had. As if he was happy at that moment, happy being with the Lovegoods, but was otherwise not so happy, in the rest of the aspects of his life.

It was Ronald.

Luna's eyes widened slightly as she realised that she knew that fire, that campground. She had spent a week there, before third year. It was the Quidditch World Cup.

__

But Ronald didn't come anywhere near us at the Quidditch World Cup. He was with Harry and Hermione and Ginny and the rest, and—

Her train of thought stopped so abruptly that it seemed as though there was something stopping its progress on the tracks.

__

MUM wasn't at the Quidditch World Cup AT ALL!

Luna stumbled back, tripping over the coffee table as she fell back onto the familiar couch. She _remembered_ her Mum at the Quidditch World Cup! But...she _didn't_...remember her, at the same time.

__

"Oh, come on, just try one s'more, please!" London said, pressing the gooey marshmallow-and-graham-cracker-and-chocolate snack at his wife, who was trying—and failing—to push his arm back. "I know you'll want some more!"

Luna sat, faintly bored, staring at the fire. She noticed the Beatles music that London was blasting for all the campground to listen to, but she didn't really hear it.

Ronald hasn't come over very much this summer_, she thought. _I miss him.

Well he has a good reason,_ she reasoned._

I suppose so, _Luna agreed with herself._

Luna emerged from her reverie when she heard the faint sound of footfalls behind her. Faint, of course, because there were many sounds to hear at a very loud campground that were not footfalls approaching behind oneself. In fact, the footfalls were probably too soft to hear at all, but Luna noticed them anyway.

Luna saw her parents laughing, marshmallow and chocolate all over their faces. They hadn't noticed the sound.

"Hello?" she asked, turning round to face whoever it was. It was dark, but she recognised him immediately. "Ronald! What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Luna," he said, walking up to the fire. "Can I sit here awhile?"

"Of course, Ronald," said Luna smiling. "Why would we say no?"

"I dunno," said Ronald, shaking his head. "I just...well, things were getting rather...edgy at our camp. It's been like that all the time now, since...well, you know."

"Yes," she said, nodding understandingly.

"Would you like a s'more?" offered London, who had—along with Cynthia—been silent until now. "They're simply wonderful..." He held out the one he had just toasted.

"Thanks, Mr Lovegood," said Ronald awkwardly, clumsily taking the gooey treat from the man's hand.

"When will you stop with all this formality?" asked Cynthia. "You're practically part of the family and you have been for years—why do you still call us Mr and Mrs Lovegood?"

"Formality?" Ronald repeated, quirking an eyebrow in Luna's general direction. "I don't know why. I just do. I don't think I'd be comfortable calling you...your first names. What are your first names, anyway?" he asked sheepishly. "I can never remember, and I never hear them that much anyway."

"London and Cynthia," said London. "Or, if we're both in the room, feel free to call us Lonthia."

Ronald laughed, but then apparently realised it was not a joke. Luna's father was indeed suggesting he call them 'Lonthia.'

"No thanks," said Ronald. "I'll stick with Mr and Mrs Lovegood. For now, at least."

"Would you like s'more s'mores?" asked London with a grin.

She didn't know why, but Luna remembered both. She remembered what it was like to have her mother there, and what it was like when she wasn't.

__

But how could she have been? thought Luna. _Mum died, a long time before...._

A thought sprung to her mind suddenly, a thought she did not remember thinking ever before, yet a thought she had thought about numerous times.

__

"Nothing happened. Something was going to happen, but it didn't..."

"Something was going to happen? What do you mean?"

"I mean… I don't really know what I mean. I just know that everything's perfectly okay. I've told you about guardian angels, right?"

__

Yes, Mum, Luna thought. _You've told me about guardian angels. You just never happened to mention _who_ yours was...._

Last night, remembered Luna, they had spoken through the mirror. She and her mother. They had changed something. And now….

"Luna?" came a familiar voice from behind her. She jumped when she heard it, and spun herself around on the couch.

"Ronald?" she said, thoughts of her mother vanishing in an instant. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, no..." said Ronald, putting his head in his hands. "You don't remember..."

"Don't remember what?" asked Luna, arms on the back of the couch.

"Everything!" Ronald cried. "The mirror, the attic, the desk, the sandwiches…I must have imagined it all. But it seems so _real_…"

__

Ronald remembers both too, Luna realised. She, however, could not seem to remember something about Ronald. Something...important. She knew it was important, but she didn't know what it was.

"No, no, I do remember!" said Luna hurriedly, jumping up from the couch. "But what happened?"

"You remember?" said Ronald happily. "Really?"

"_Yes_," said Luna.

"Then I'm not going barmy!"

"No, no you're not barmy," said Luna. "But what happened? How are we…"

"I dunno," said Ronald. "Last night, I fell asleep here. But I woke up at home, at the Burrow. Everyone was asleep, so I just came right back. It doesn't make any—"

"Ronald," Luna said calmly, "I think we changed something. With the...the mirror. Mum's still alive!"

"What?" said Ronald. "How could your mother...no, wait. I knew that."

Luna was very, very confuzzled. She had always thought that she would see her mother again _someday_, but she didn't mean _now_. Nothing was really making much sense in her mind, so she just sat back down on the comfy couch and put her head in her hands.

"Have a seat," she offered Ronald.

She tried to remember the past six years _with_ her mother in them, but it was rather difficult. Her mind was set so much to dealing with life _without_ her mother there. Trying to think of what it was like _with_ her seemed against her nature. All she could remember was that bit of conversation, and the Quidditch World Cup. Nothing else about this alternate reality came to her mind.

She managed to scrape up one recollection, however. It was...in third year. There was still a Triwizard Tournament, she remembered that.

__

But why wouldn't there be? she reasoned. _It's not like Mum dying made that big a deal to the outside world._

She remembered there being a Triwizard Tournament. For the life of her, she couldn't remember Harry competing, but she also couldn't imagine why he wouldn't have. She did, however, remember the Yule Ball.

__

"Ronald?" she asked, walking up to the Gryffindor table at lunch. He turned round in his seat to face her.

"What?" he asked.

"Ronald, do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?" Luna asked him calmly.

"Sure, I guess," he said. "Why not?"

She smiled and made her way back to the Ravenclaw table.

There,_ she thought_. That wasn't so hard.

Luna remembered that there hadn't been that many people at the Gryffindor table. It had seemed almost empty, and most of the students were missing. She didn't remember seeing Harry, or Ginny, for one. And many other students were gone as well. _They must have gone home for the holidays,_ she reasoned.

__

"Do you want to...you know, dance?" asked Ronald, wearing his maroon dress robes. They did not have frilly edges, she noticed. She didn't know why she noticed. After all, why would they?

"If you want to," she replied. "If you don't want to, we don't have to."

"Oh," said Ronald thankfully. "Good."

Luna remembered that most of the other girls had forced their dates to dance at least once. Ronald had been anxious about it; he didn't like dancing. Why should he have to, if he didn't want to? And she didn't really like dancing all that much herself.

__

"Luna," said Ronald as they made their way out into the rose garden, "Um, Luna, I just..."

"What?" she asked, gazing out over the grounds, still walking beside him.

"Er, well I...had a really...nice. Time. Tonight." He paused awkwardly between each word, making it seem as they were separate thoughts.

"So did I," said Luna, nodding and looking in the direction of Hagrid's abandoned hut.

"Well, I..." Ronald stopped, not quite sure how to say what he was trying to say.

"You what?" asked Luna, finally turning round to look him in the face.

"I um...here."

He held out a rose that he had evidently picked from one of the nearby bushes. It was rather prickly, and kind of not-very-alive looking, as if he had crumpled it in his hand accidentally.

Yes,_ she noticed,_ he must have. He's got little pricks on his hand from it. Maybe that's where these bits of blood came from.

__

She took it from his outstretched hand, and sniffed it.

It still smells nice, though_, she thought._

__

"Thank you, Ronald," she said, nose in the flower.

"You—you're welcome," he said awkwardly.

She moved closer to him, stood on the tips of her toes, and kissed him on the cheek. Somehow, it seemed to bring him to his senses a bit.

"Thank you," she said again.

"Luna," he said, newfound courage showing, "do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me, on the next, you know, Hogsmeade weekend?"

She looked at him confuzzledly. "But we always go to Hogsmeade together—why would this time be any different?"

"That's not...that's not exactly what I meant..."

The memory abruptly stopped, for some reason. Luna could not fathom why.

__

Oh. That's_ why_, she fathomed.

An owl had swooped into the living room, coming to a landing atop Ronald's shoulder. He looked at it oddly, recognising it yet not really recognising it.

"What's this?" Ronald asked no one in particular, unless of course he was addressing the owl, who wasn't really 'someone in particular' as much as 'some_thing_ in particular' as it and Ronald weren't did not even know each others' _names_.

Luna turned and noticed for the first time that Ronald had accepted her invitation to sit on the couch. She did not know why she hadn't noticed; she had seen the owl land on his shoulder, and must have realised subconsciously that he had indeed sat down. But she just hadn't really made note of it, for some reason.

The owl departed through the open window above the kitchen sink, which was visible through the open doorway. Ronald stared at the letter in his hands, not making a move to open it.

"That's not possible," he said, shaking his head.

"What?" said Luna, peering over his arm at the envelope. She read the front of it:

** THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC**_ Ordinary Wizarding LevelsResults for student:Ronald Weasley_

"I already _got_ my OWL results, remember? Last night—"

"Last night never happened, remember?" Luna said. She nodded towards the envelope. "You must never have gotten them in this...universe."

"Right," said Ronald, nodding, though he did not seem to think that it was 'right' at all. In fact, he seemed to think that nothing seemed 'right'.

Well, thought Luna_, he hasn't just got his mother back, has he?_

Ronald broke the wax seal on the letter and pulled out the folded up piece of parchment. Unfolding it, both Ronald and Luna saw the bold "THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC" heading on the top of the page, with the same words as on the outside of the envelope beneath it. Below that, it read,

_ _

Arithmancy

—PG: N/A

—WG: N/A

****

—OWL: N/A

Astronomy

—PG: D

—WG: N/A

****

—OWL: None

Care of Magical Creatures

—PG: O

—WG: A

****

—OWL: One (1)

Charms

—PG: P

—WG: D

****

—OWL: None

Defence Against the Dark Arts

—PG: E

—WG: A

****

—OWL: One (1)

Divination

—PG: E

—WG: O

****

—OWL: One (1)

Herbology

—PG: P

—WG: D

****

—OWL: None

History of Magic

—PG: N/A

—WG: D

****

—OWL: None

Muggle Studies

—PG: N/A

—WG: N/A

****

—OWL: N/A

Potions

—PG: D

—WG: D

****

—OWL: None

The Study of Ancient Runes

—PG: N/A

—WG: N/A

****

—OWL: N/A

Transfiguration

—PG: P

—WG: P

****

—OWL: None

****

Total OWLS: Three (3)

"Three?" said Ronald incredulously. "But I got six!"

"Well, three's not _that_ bad," said a familiar voice from the stairway. "London only got two, you know. And he turned out...well, I _suppose_ you could say 'fine...' Perhaps 'okay' would be a better term. Or maybe _not_...well. Don't be too upset. It could have been wo—wo—worse."

Staring at the yawning figure on the bottom step of the stairway, Luna had to agree.

It could have been worse.

**_ Next Chapter  
Perihelion_** "Oh, what a beautiful mornin'  
Oh, what a beautiful day.  
I got a beautiful feelin'  
Everything's going my way."  
Oscar Hammerstein II** Coming Soon**


	14. Perihelion

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47** Part Two  
Crossing the Rubicon**_ "Oh, what a beautiful mornin'  
Oh, what a beautiful day.  
I got a beautiful feelin'  
Everything's going my way."  
Oscar Hammerstein II**_ Chapter Thirteen  
Perihelion_**

"Can you see anything?"

"No. Can you?"

"Why would I have thought you couldn't, if I could?"

"I don't know, I was just asking."

Silence.

"Where do you think we are?"

"You and I both know where we are."

"I suppose. But why is it so dark?"

"I don't know."

"You've been saying that a lot lately."

"Let me think."

"You spoke first."

"And I regret that fact very much. Now shut up."

——

"Mum?" Luna said hesitantly, hardly believing that everything was indeed true, that everything was indeed happening. That her mum was _alive_.

"What?" said Cynthia Lovegood, with a puzzled look, at Luna's flabbergasted face. "You look as if you've seen a—"

"Mum!" exclaimed Luna suddenly, dashing over to her mother and enveloping her in her arms.

"Wha—" began Cynthia, both taken aback and taken backwards with the force of the hug. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Luna, shaking her head, but still clinging to her mother.

Cynthia patted her daughter's back lightly, looking curiously at Ronald over her shoulder. He evaded her gaze.

"It's a party!" said London Lovegood, bouncing into the room from the kitchen doorway. He, apparently, had come down the kitchen stairs, for some odd reason, instead of the main ones. Skipping over to where Ronald was standing, he asked, "Why are we having a party at this hour? I didn't even get to invite—"

"We're not having a party, London," said Cynthia, slowly disentangling herself from her daughter. "Luna was upset about something...what was wrong, baby?"

"Nothing, nothing," said Luna dismissively, wiping the 'dust' in her eye.

"Good, because there's nothing to be upset about," said London. "It's a party, after all, and who wants to be upset at a party? I think I'll put on the wireless!" And he did so.

"_Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting...little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear..._" said the wireless. "_Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right..._"

"Oh, I love this one..." said London, which was not a very big deal, as there was rarely a Beatles song he didn't like. He bobbed his head through the remaining notes.

"So who wants cake?" he continued, looking back at them.

"London, we're _not_ having a party," said Cynthia, but it was no use, as London was already bouncing into the kitchen to bake individually coloured cupcakes. "I think your father might have a fever of some sort," she added. "He's acting rather funny."

"Doesn't he always act like that?" said Ronald.

"Well, I suppose you can say that, but he's usually not going on about parties and cakes, is he?"

"They'll be done before you can say 'Snorkack!'" informed London from the kitchen.

"So where have you been this summer?" Cynthia asked Ronald. "You haven't avoided us this much since before the World Cup."

"Avoided you?" he repeated. "I guess I've...just had stuff," said Ronald, not really sure what stuff he had had.

"Yes, I suppose you have. But honestly," she turned to Luna, "has he even sent you one owl? I'd dump this one, if I were you."

Luna blinked. "What?" she said in an odd voice.

"I was just _joking,_" Cynthia said. "No need to take it to heart."

Ronald blinked. "What?" he said, and so did Luna.

"Joking." Cynthia looked at them as if there was something wrong with them. "Is there something wrong? Joke. You know, poking fun. Not being serious?"

"You mean Luna's my—we're—" began Ronald, wide-eyed.

"Are you all right, Ronald?" asked Luna suddenly, looking worriedly at him.

"What? I'm fine—"

"No, I think you need some fresh air. Excuse us."

She grabbed his arm and lugged the still-mouthing-like-a-grindylow-out-of-water boy towards the back porch.

"_Right_..." said Cynthia, clearly confuzzled, as they left.

——

"Maybe she fell asleep, and that caused it?"

"I doubt that that would have this effect. After all, isn't she usually asleep when she comes?"

"Maybe not. Maybe it's like us."

"I doubt it. But I've already told you how—"

"'_How little you know of the situation_.' Yes, I know."

"Then stop asking me questions."

"I didn't! I merely offered a suggestion of my own."

"Then stop offering suggestions of your own."

——

Luna sat Ronald down on one of the deck chairs on the back porch, and proceeded to sit in the one opposite.

"Ronald, I don't know how this whole thing happened, but it did, so I suppose we'll just have to live with it."

"But how did—when did—I don't remember—"

"I do," said Luna.

"You do?"

"Yes. We went together to the Yule Ball in my third year. We went as friends. At the end of the night, we were out in the rose garden, and you handed me a crumpled-up rose, which you'd pricked your hand on, so it had a bit of blood on it. You asked me if I'd like to go to Hogsmeade with you. I said that we always go to Hogsmeade together. You said that wasn't what you meant. We've been together since." She said all this very fast, as if when she took a breath, this new place would disappear.

"What—when—how—why don't I remember that?"

"I don't know. I can't remember much else, either. From this life, that is."

"This whole thing is so—does this look different to you?" Ronald's brow had furrowed, and he was looking round them, at the porch itself.

"What do you mean—oh."

The porch _was_ different. At least, from how it had been _before_. It was now enclosed, with glass windows on all sides. It looked rather odd, it did. But Luna hadn't even noticed it.

"I suppose it must have been Mum's idea," she reasoned. _Yes, that makes sense._

"Right."

"So we're like...boyfriend and girlfriend?" said Ronald uncertainly.

"Yes," said Luna, nodding. She inwardly jumped up and down.

__

Luna and Ronald....Ronald and Luna....Finally, finally, finally, finally....Ronald and Luna....Luna and Ronald....Finally, finally, finally, finally....she inwardly chanted, until 'finally' began to sound to her, in her head, like 'fine alley' and that didn't make much sense, so she stopped.

"Unless you don't want to," she hastily added. "We could just pretend or...."

"No, it's...fine," said Ronald awkwardly. "Yeah, pretend. Kind of. We don't know how we acted before, anyways. So we'd have to pretend. Right."

__

Luna and Ronald....Ronald and Luna....Ronald doesn't seem very enthusiastic...Luna and Ronald...damn it...Ronald and Luna....

"Let's go back in, shall we?" said Luna, pulling him up from his chair. She just now realised she had already gotten up from her own.

Dragging him inside, perhaps a bit too quickly as he was jogging to prevent the loss of his arm, Luna thought that pretending had to be better than nothing, right?

——

"Well, maybe we just have to wait. A light's bound to turn on eventually."

"Sadly, you may be correct."

Silence.

"Do you have your wand?"

"If I had my wand, do you really think this would be a problem? No. I was taken right out of bed."

"So was I."

"Yes, I needed to be told that. It is so vital to our predicament."

"Well, you told me!"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I want to hear you say the same."

"That doesn't make sense."

"It makes a certain amount of sense, but under the circumstances, that's the best I can do."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes, it does."

"No, it doesn't."

"I told you to be quiet."

"No, you told me to 'shut up,' and 'stop offering suggestions of my own.'"

"Then shut up and stop offering suggestions of your own."

——

"There they are!" exclaimed London excitedly, wearing a purple "Kiss Me, I'm Eccentric" apron (which Cynthia's great-uncle had sent him the previous year, Luna remembered now) and matching oven mitts. He held a pan of individually coloured cupcakes, each one a different colour of the rainbow, as would be inferred from them being 'individually coloured'. "Cupcakes! There's enough for two each!"

Luna and Ron could see that, as there were four cupcakes left in the pan and four empty-yet-crumb-filled-cupcake-shaped spaces. Ronald took a blue and a orange-ish colour, and Luna took a red and yellow-ish colour.

"Now it's really a party! Who wants to watch 'Yellow Submarine?'" he asked elatedly. "It'd match your cupcake, Luna!"

"Not again!" said Cynthia exasperatedly. "I tell you, that was the worst idea I ever had, buying you that cartoon for your birthday. And I'll never get that song out of my head, either."

But London had already inserted the video tape and the film had started to play. He took a bite of the cupcake in his left hand (which he had saved especially) and began to watch.

"Well, that'll keep him entertained for a while," said Cynthia, as if her husband was a rambunctious three-year-old who could be mesmerised by watching his favourite programs. "Do either of you want breakfast? I'm not as good a cook as London, but I can make bacon pretty well."

"Yeah," said Ronald, who had just noticed that he was pretty hungry for something other than cupcakes.

"All righty then. You two can talk amongst yourselves while I cook." They walked into the kitchen, and Ronald and Luna took seats at the table.

Cynthia took what looked like a brand-new apron, never worn, from the sliding-door closet and tying it round her waist. "Now," she said. "Where does London keep the pans?"

——

"Somebody's coming."

"Yes, someone _is_ coming... Is that _wings_ I hear?"

"It sounds like it. Maybe it's—"

"I doubt it."

"Why do you keep saying 'I doubt it' to everything I say?"

"Because I doubt everything you say."

Silence.

"Whoever it was, they've left."

"Don't you mean 'he or she' left, Little-Miss-Perfect-Grammar?"

"There may have been more than one of them, Mister I-Must-Say-Something-Negative-Every-Chance-I-Get."

"That's _Professor_ I-Must-Say-Something-Negative-Every-Chance-I-Get, to you."

"Yes, well you're not a professor right now, are you?"

"Once a professor, always a professor. Regretfully."

"Regretfully? Why would you regret being a professor?"

"Because I have to teach dunderheads like you."

"You're negative again."

"No, I'm positive I have to teach dunderheads like you."

——

Cynthia hoisted herself up onto the counter, opening the final unopened kitchen cabinets, which were far above her reach.

"Where _is_ that pan?"

"Maybe you should ask Dad," repeated Luna, as she had already done again and again.

"No. I'm _going_ to do this without your father's help," Cynthia said determinedly. She peered through the open doorway into the living room. "And he wouldn't help now anyway; he's too busy."

"Why don't we just have Pop Tarts?" suggested Ronald hopefully.

"Pop Tarts? We have Pop Tarts?" she said uncertainly. "No, I'd know if we have Pop Tarts. They're my favourite, after all. And how would you know what we have anyways, Mister I'll-Just-Leave-My-Girlfriend-Hanging-Over-The-Summer. Really, Luna, you should consider...No. I'm going to find this pan."

Cynthia dropped to the ground, peering under the icebox. "If I were a pan, where would I hide?" she wondered aloud. Then realisation dawned on her face.

"Or..." she said. "Where _wouldn't_ I hide? That's where London would put it..."

Looking at all the different parts of the kitchen suspiciously, she pulled paintings to the side, opened drawers and even checked the underside of the table. Then she went "Aha!" and pulled open the icebox door.

"Right next to the bacon! I should have known..."

The rest of the preparation was a snap—literally. Cynthia very much preferred the magic way of doing things, opposed to her husband's Muggle ways. Ronald was devouring his bacon in no time.

Luna, who hadn't taken very much bacon to begin with (compared to Ronald's mountain, at least), finished rather quickly. Cynthia took her plate and put it in the sink. On second thought, she decided to say "_Scourgify!_" and place it back in its proper cabinet; much easier.

Watching her mother, Luna had a sudden thought: _What else is different now?_ And with said thought, she stood and made for the kitchen stairs.

"Where are you going?" asked Ronald, though it sounded a bit more like "Wararoogong?" because his mouth was so very full.

"I want to look at something," she replied vaguely, and climbed the stairwell.

——

In the upstairs hallway, Luna looked round. The first thing she noticed was that the chair and mirror were not anywhere to be seen, though the desk was just where it had always been; _Perhaps she just moved them into her room or something. Put them on a different desk._

Also missing were the yellow pinstriped walls, and thick orange round carpet over the hardwood floor. Everything had taken on a decidedly greenish-bluish-orangish colour, though it is rather simple to imagine not being able to imagine such a thing.

She wondered what her mother's room looked like now.

Walking slowly, Luna suddenly flashed back to when she was nine years old.

__

Finally, she could see the bottom of the door to her mother's room. No, not her bedroom. Her_ room. The room in which she did her experiments. Luna did not know why, but she now felt that her mother was awake, and out of bed. The only place she would go was her room._

Slowly but surely, Luna made her way to the door. She felt that there was a weight in her chest, something telling her to go back to bed. But she couldn't go back to bed, not now. Not when her hand was already on the doorknob...

Turning the knob, however, she did not see the inside of the room she remembered. She saw the inside of a nondescript room that she _did_ remember, but it was not her mother's room.

"What is the Queen of Logica-Land doing in my chambers?" echoed a cold, icy voice.

__

The Wizard, thought Luna.

"I'm not sure," said Luna.

"Well I am," said the Wizard, _popping _into Luna's view. "You wished to know what else had changed. And I am to tell you."

__

Oh.

"But first," said the Wizard, holding up a finger, "I must tell you—there are those who do not wish for things to continue; they want you to _change it back_."

"Why would I want to change it back?" asked Luna. "My mother is alive now. Everything is perfect."

The Wizard smiled a grim smile, nodding slightly, greasy hair reflecting a far-off light.

"Exactly. I shall simply say that the ones of which I speak are not exactly _on my side_, if you understand."

__

The Envelope of Oblivion, thought Luna. _It wants me to change it all back._

"Of course, you may change it back if you insist; I am merely suggesting that you do not."

"Never," said Luna confidently. _My mother is alive; I'm not going to lose her again._

——

"So," Cynthia asked Ronald sombrely, "how's your mother been holding up?"

"My mother?" echoed Ron, confuzzled. He took a bite of his bacon. "Why wouldn't my mother be holding up fine?"

Cynthia worriedly looked at him, eyes wide. "Perhaps you need more fresh air, Ronald," she said. "If you don't remember what happened, you must have some sort of cold or something..."

Ronald swallowed.

"_What_ happened?"

**_ Next Chapter  
Repercussions and Revelations_** "And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,  
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,  
Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's  
In deepest consequence."  
Shakespeare** Coming Soon**


	15. Repercussions and Revelations

Believe in Yesterday

_ Potter47** Part Two  
Crossing the Rubicon**_ "And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,  
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,  
Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's  
In deepest consequence."  
Shakespeare**_ Chapter Fourteen  
Repercussions and Revelations _**

"I'm bored."

"And you tell me this...why?"

"Because there's no one else here."

"That isn't my fault; why punish me for it?"

"I'm not punishing you! All I said were two simple words!"

"And now, since saying those two _simple words_, you have said seventeen _more_ words, all of which are equally annoying me."

"You counted how many words I used? Why would you do such a thing?"

"Because I am bored."

——

"Are _you _notholding up? Is that why you can't remember?"

"Er...maybe?"

Cynthia narrowed her eyes, inspecting Ronald from the counter, which she had hoisted herself onto once again. "Ronald, are you _sure_ you don't remember? It seems an awful lot to forget..."

"No, I really can't remember," said Ronald, without emotion.

"Maybe you should lie down or something, if you're not feeling well..." Cynthia seemed nervous, not wanting to say what Ronald was asking of her.

"I'm feeling fine," said Ronald. "It's my memory that needs help. _What happened?_"

"Erm...I really shouldn't be the one to tell you this. Luna's your girlfriend. Have her tell you."

Luna, of course, didn't know herself so it would be rather difficult to tell someone else. And—

"Luna's not here."

"Um, well, you know. Everything that's happened...it could weigh a lot on her. Your mother. That is."

"Everything _what's_ happened?"

"Ronald," said Cynthia bracingly. "Do you really need to know? I mean, your memory has bound to come back, and it would only do to depress you twice..."

"What would depress me?"

"ThatYou-Know-Whohasbeenpickingyourfamilyofflikeflies," Cynthia said quietly, all in one word.

——

"First off," said the Wizard, sitting down in a large, hard backed chair that Luna hadn't noticed—he gestured for her to take the other, "you must realise that everything is quite a bit different than it was before the change.

"Certain families," he continued, "certain lives are completely different than they would have been."

__

Like mine, thought Luna.

"Some people are alive now, and they wouldn't have been before."

__

Like Mum, thought Luna.

"And some people...well, obviously, there has to be a down side, yes? Some people aren't _quite _as happy as they were before—but I'm sure you agree it was worth it, yes? A bit of unhappiness never hurt anybody, after all."

——

"_What?_" said Ronald, taken aback. Literally, in fact—he had fallen backwards off his chair.

"You-Know-Who's been _what?_" said Ronald disbelievingly, righting himself and staring at Cynthia.

"You heard," said Cynthia, covering her face with an open cabinet door.

"Who?" said Ronald.

"Your older brothers."

"Which ones?" he asked, head in hands.

Cynthia's voice was barely more than a whisper, and he could hardly hear her.

"All of them."

——

"What else is different?" asked Luna eagerly.

"Oh—" the Wizard smirked slyly, "—a lot of things are different. You would need to be more specific."

"_The_ _Quibbler,_" she said. "Is there anything different about it?"

"Yes, Jake Petersen is now the Assistant Editor," the Wizard answered. "But does that really matter much? There must be something a bit more personal you wish to know about."

Luna thought for a moment before answering him.

"Ronald's family. What's different about them?"

The Wizard thought a long time about this, as if he was trying to remember exactly what had changed about the Weasleys, and was not having an easy time of it.

Meanwhile, Luna tried to figure out who he looked like. There was a strong resemblance to someone, she just couldn't tell who.

Finally, the Wizard answered.

"Their house isn't nearly as crowded," he said with certainty.

——

"_What?_"

"Wait—no! The twins—they're older than you, right?" Ronald nodded. "Then not all of them. My mistake."

__

Hell of a mistake, Ronald thought.

"Fred and George are still alive?"

Cynthia nodded. Ronald let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding.

"So...Bill, Charlie, and Percy are..._dead?_"

Cynthia nodded sadly, though Ronald could hardly see it, because of the aforementioned cabinet door.

"And Ginny," she added, perhaps thinking he remembered that one.

The look of shock on Ronald's face told her that clearly, he hadn't.

——

"Maybe if I close my eyes I can imagine I'm with a more companionable companion."

"Maybe if you be quiet you'll remember that this is the second time in a month that I've been stuck with you in a dark room. I personally preferred the last; it was a bit less humiliating."

"Why is it humiliating now?"

"Because, for one, I don't have my wand. I am a prisoner this time. I am sure you would agree that is not a pleasant experience."

"Who would think being a prisoner was a pleasant experience?"

"Exactly; no one. That's why we actually have it in common."

Silence.

"We have other things in common."

"Like what."

"Well, we're both against Voldemort."

"Don't say the name."

"Why?"

"I thought you were supposed to be smart. Did no one ever tell you _why_ we are not supposed to speak the Dark Lord's name?"

"Because...it is feared; but fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself—"

"I see you are partial to quoting Dumbledore. But there is more to it than that. There is deeper magic—ancient magic. It is rarely even thought of as magic anymore."

"What?"

"Speak of the devil and he may appear."

"What—no, that's just a phrase, it's not—"

"It's not what?"

"Magic."

"And what did I _just_ say? It is rarely even thought of as magic. When you speak of someone, deep inside that person, they _know_ you are speaking of them. But most don't even realise it; they do not notice it, buried so deep within.

"But it just so happens, and nobody really knows why, that the darker the wizard—man, I should say really, or person, as some of the darker Muggles have been known to have felt it too—the stronger this sense becomes. And, consequently, as that person is dark, they take notice of it, and they use it to their advantage. They know, subconsciously, where those that fear them wait. It is not as strong as Legilimency, and it is really just a...feeling. But it can be used to the advantage still.

"Speak of the devil and he may appear."

"But Dumbledore...why does Dumbledore say his name, if...if Vold—if the Dark Lord can hear; can tell?"

"Because this type of magic is not widely accepted as a reality. Imagine; a magic that certain Muggles can do! Most simply laugh at it; dismiss it as an old rumour. Dumbledore does not believe in this magic, and he thinks it foolish to cower in fear of your own imagination."

"But you believe."

"Yes. I believe it. Though I cannot believe I have just given you a lecture on ancient magic, let alone in a dark cell."

Silence.

"I've just realised that this is the first time you've ever taught me something I didn't already know."

"Oh, I've taught you...many things. You just don't realise it was me that taught you them."

——

__

Less crowded? thought Luna, confuzzled. And then she realised that _The Burrow must be bigger now; more roomy. Yes, that makes sense._

"These things are all rather trivial, don't you think?" asked the Wizard. "Is there anything of more...importance, that you would like to know about?"

__

More importance? Didn't he just say that I should ask something more specific? Wouldn't something of more importance be less specific?

And then she thought, _What is there of more importance?_

She sat for a few moments, gazing idly at the Wizard, who she still could not identify, and puzzled over this question. Then it hit her like, well, like something quite hard.

"You-Know-Who," she said. "What's different about You-Know-Who?"

The Wizard smiled grimly. "I had had a feeling that you would ask me that..."

——

"Ginny?" Ronald uttered the name so softly it was a wonder that Cynthia heard it at all.

"I thought you might have remembered that one..." she whispered. "It happened such a long time ago, after all."

"Wha—when?" questioned Ronald. "How?"

"She was taken into the—Ronald, you _know _this. I know you know it." She hopped off the counter and sat down across the table from him, in the seat Luna had vacated. She noticed his face was covered in tears.

"_How?_" asked Ronald again.

"What is really wrong? Why don't you remember any of this?"

"_How did she die?_" demanded Ronald.

Cynthia took a breath. "She was taken into the Chamber of Secrets in Luna's first year, remember? No one saw her again after that."

"The Chamber of Secrets?" said Ronald bewilderedly. "But why didn't Harry save her?"

"Harry?" repeated Cynthia. "Harry who?"

"No, Harry Potter," said Ronald, obviously thinking she had suggested someone named 'Harry Who' or perhaps someone named 'Harry Hoo' with and 'h', who may or may not have been a Asian detective.

She shook her head slightly, brow furrowed. "Why would _Harry Potter _have saved _your_ sister?"

——

"I've a feeling you're not going to like this part," said the Wizard, standing from his chair and sweeping across the nondescript room to what looked like a Muggle movie screen, only smaller. Luna followed, sure that the screen had not been there a moment before.

"For this," he said, "I shall have to show you."

He snapped his fingers and an image appeared on the screen; of a red-haired boy on a train, glumly looking at his corned beef sandwiches.

"Ronald," Luna said, recognising him at once.

"You see, Queen of Logica-Land, with your mother alive, Ronald continued to be your best friend. So, when the time came for him to go to Hogwarts, he was not happy that he wouldn't see you for a whole year.

"However, as I said, he was still your best friend. Therefore he was not looking to make a new best friend. Which is why he is now silent, instead of talking to _this_ boy." The screen showed a silent black-haired boy across from Ronald, which was obviously Harry Potter.

"And so this boy did not make friends with him, either. Ronald would, a year later, come home and still be the very best of friends with you. However, Harry Potter had only one best friend, Hermione Granger,"—the screen showed the two, Harry and Hermione, walking to class—"as opposed to two, which he would have had, had you and Ronald parted ways, as you did before. I am sure this sounds confusing."

Luna shook her head; she understood fine.

"Throughout his year, Harry Potter did things very different from the way he would have done them—and did do them—when Ronald was his best friend. He did not volunteer for a duel with Draco Malfoy,"—the image of Draco Malfoy appeared—"as that had been Ronald's idea. Consequently, he did not discover a three-headed dog in the forbidden third floor corridor."

Luna saw a giant, ferocious-looking three-headed dog on the screen, barking and biting, which made her jump back automatically. On second thought, she figured it was _fur-_ocious, as it was, you know, a _dog._ With three heads.

"And because of this, he did not know a thing concerning the Philosopher's Stone."

Now however, Luna _was_ a bit confused. For she hadn't known how any of this had happened in the first place, in any detail. So it was rather difficult to tell what was different.

"Needless to say, Harry Potter did not thwart the Dark Lord's plot, as he did not know of it."

"So what happened? You-Know-Who came back? Then?"

The Wizard didn't answer. "You will also want to know," he said eventually, "what became of your friend Ginny Weasley."

Luna blinked. _What _became_ of her?_ she thought. _That's not a very nice-sounding way to put it._

"I suppose," she said quietly.

"The same thing that became of Harry Potter, because that thing happened to Harry Potter, so he could not prevent that thing happening to her."

Luna thought about this for a moment. "Right. Now what does that _mean?_"

——

"_How_ would he have saved your sister, for that matter?" Cynthia added.

"Because—Parsel—Chamber—why wouldn't he of?"

She looked at him as if he had forgot his own name.

"Because Harry Potter died _before_ your sister went to Hogwarts. What, do you think he'd come back from the dead to save someone he didn't even _know?_"

"Didn't know?" echoed Ronald disbelievingly. "And Harry's...dead?"

"Everyone knows that!" Cynthia said harshly. "Ronald, you need to lie down—something has to be wrong if you don't remember that You-Know-Who killed Harry Potter..."

"He _wha—what? _He what?" Ronald blinked rapidly. _My whole world's just crumbled up before my eyes...next thing she'll say'll be "Oh, and I forgot—you're dead too." I just know it..._

"I—_I'm_ alive, right?" he asked uncertainly.

She simply stared at him and he was certain she was going to tell him, "_Of course not, what would make you think you were alive?_" but she didn't.

"That's it, Ronald," she said instead.

__

"That's it Ronald, you're exactly right. You are_ dead," _Ronald thought.

"That's it—you're lying down whether you like it or not." She took out her wand and said "_Stupefy!_" very quietly and he doubled over in his chair, unconscious.

"_Mobilicorpus!" _she muttered, and proceeded to float him into the living room, where she promptly dropped him out of surprise.

——

"Did you hear that?"

"Did I hear what?"

"That sound...it sounded like a Portkey."

"A Portkey? You can _hear_ a Portkey?"

"Not the Portkey _itself; _the people falling on their bottoms after _taking _the Portkey. That's what you can hear."

"No, I can't. And I don't want to, either."

"Shh. They might be coming this way."

"Did you just tell _me_ to shush? Oh, you are going to be in so much trouble, I can hardly wait for the start of term..."

"Do you really think there will _be_ a start of term, if we don't get out of here? Sure, this might be _your_ idea of ideal teaching conditions, but I prefer...I don't know..._light?_

"Who would've thought; you're not a vampire after all."

"If I hadn't seen your reflection, I'd say you were calling the kettle black."

"I can call the kettle black as much as I want as long as I'm not a pot."

"That's what I meant."

Silence.

"There it was again! Who do you think it could be?"

"We're about to find out."

"Why?"

"I hear footsteps."

**_ Next Chapter  
The Darkness_** "Not a speck of light is showing,  
So the danger must be growing..."  
Roald Dahl** Coming Soon**


	16. The Darkness

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47** Part Two  
Crossing the Rubicon**_ "Not a speck of light is showing,  
So the danger must be growing..."  
Roald Dahl**_ Chapter Fifteen  
The Darkness _**

When you are in complete and total darkness, your eyes do not adjust to your surroundings. They do not sense the little bit of light that is needed to see outlines of shapes, to see the silhouettes of those around you. In short, you see nothing.

You cannot tell whether your eyes are opened or closed; you see no difference between the two. You don't know how far away you are from the wall, from the door, from that broken light bulb that you just _know_ must be there in the blackness above you.

There are two distinct reactions to total darkness. The first would be if you were _taken_ into the darkness; seeing the light vanish before your eyes. Not being able to stop it. Watching the last glimmer of brightness evaporate behind a closing door, feeling helpless, defeated.

The second reaction would be shock; sheer unexpectedness. Your eyes are closed; unconscious. And suddenly you wake up...only to find consciousness darker than your darkest dreams.

And so it was that Ronald and Luna awoke.

"Are you awake?" asked a tentative voice.

"If they are not awake, how exactly do you expect them to answer you?" said a second voice—harsher, colder.

Ronald nodded, which did not have very much effect, as you can imagine.

"I _don't_—I was asking if they _were_ awake; if they respond, obviously they are."

"We are," said Luna dizzily, clearly only awake by a small bit. She somehow knew that Ronald was, indeed, also awake.

"Who are you?" said the second voice.

"Ronald Weasley," said Ronald quietly.

"Luna Lovegood," Luna informed. "Who are you? You sound familiar."

"Ron? Luna?" echoed the first voice incredulously.

"No, _Ronald_ and—" Luna began, but was cut off by the one of which she spoke.

"Hermione?" Ronald asked disbelievingly. "Is that you?"

"Yes—how did you get here?"

"I—I was in the kitchen—"

"As I'm sure you are always," interrupted the second voice austerely. "Despite how much I just _hate_ to interrupt this _touching_ reunion, I do believe we should try to figure out what is going on."

"Is that _Snape?_" Ronald said suspiciously. "What in hell is _he_ doing here, Hermione?"

"Well, I was in Logica-Land—"

"_What?_" said Luna unbelievingly. "_You_ know about Logica-Land?" _Of all people, Hermione Granger...._

"Logical and...what?" echoed Ronald uncomprehendingly.

Hermione set into an explanation of all recent events, including those that Ronald and Luna already knew about, while Luna protested the fact that they couldn't possibly know about Logica-Land, and for Hermione to stop calling Ronald 'Ron.' Ronald, however, was utterly and completely confuzzled.

"Silence!" hissed Snape. "I believe _I'll_ explain everything, shall I?"

Without waiting for an answer (though one was clearly on the tip of Hermione's tongue) Snape plunged into an explanation that made far more sense than the bits and pieces of Hermione's that could be heard over Luna's interjections.

"Miss Lovegood created a world, Mr Weasley, as you are the only one present who does not know. It is called Logica-Land—though I haven't the faintest idea _why_—it isn't logical in the slightest.

"For reasons we do not know, Miss Granger and myself have been taken inside this world on more than one occasion. It just so happened that we were both in Logica-Land when the world...shifted, I suppose it could be called. It is not clear what happened, but something is very different. And now we are here."

"And Mum's alive," said Luna.

"What?" said Hermione. "But you said that your mother was—"

"Dead, I know. But now she's not."

"Just another change," said Snape dismissively. "We don't know why everything changed; just that it did."

"But that's _why_ it changed," said Ronald softly, who had been silent for a few minutes—a rare occasion, as Snape would say.

"What?" said Snape and Hermione, turning to him (though he couldn't tell, from the darkness).

"That's why everything's different," said Ronald. "That's why they're all dead..."

"What—who's dead?"

"Harry. Ginny. Bill, Charlie, Percy—"

"Potter is _dead?_" Snape said incredulously. There was something unusual in his voice—something that was not usually there. Fear.

"I'd have thought you'd be happy," sneered Ronald.

"What?" said Hermione, her reaction delayed from shock. "Harry's dead—Ginny's dead?"

"That's what I said." It was difficult to tell, due to the darkness, but it sounded as though Ronald was sobbing quietly.

Snape turned to Luna. "He said that your mother being alive caused this. _Why_ is your mother alive?"

Luna, who had been just as taken aback as the others at the news, did not answer at once.

"Well, I guess it all...leads back to Logica-Land, right?" she said finally, shrugging unsurely.

"How do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"The Wizard, he—" Luna stopped, recognition blooming. "YOU!" she exclaimed, pointing in Snape's general direction. "_You're_ the Wizard. This is all because of _you_."

Luna reached into her robes from reflex, grasping for her Harpy. However, it was nowhere to be found.

"Where is it?" she wondered aloud, before realising that she was wearing her dressing-gown, and her Harpy was likely still on her bedside table.

__

If I even have it at all, she reasoned, thinking that perhaps she had never got her knife at all in this life.

"I would appreciate an explanation for that little outburst," said Snape harshly, backing up into the cell wall.

Luna turned to him, glaring. "This is all because of you. You told me to _put the looking-glass on the desk. _You said that _all would be explained in time_. Well, _I'd_ appreciate an explanation myself!"

"Luna, sit down," said Hermione, grabbing hold of her shoulders. Luna hadn't even realised she'd been backing her Potions professor into the cell wall. "Professor Snape didn't tell you anything," she explained. "That wasn't him."

"How do _you_ know, Hermione?" said Ronald suspiciously, joining the rest of them on their feet. "How do you know he _didn't_ set this all up, just so he could kill Harry?"

"Weasley, that is ludicrous—"

"Ron, how many times do I have to tell you—_Dumbledore_ trusts him!"

"Not in this life! And that's not a real reason either! You've been saying that since...what was it, fourth year? Dumbledore trusted _Quirrell_, _Lockhart_, _Crouch_—in my opinion, who Dumbledore trusts just doesn't count anymore."

"Well, _I_ trust him," Hermione snapped back at him. "Does _that_ count?"

Ronald fell silent just long enough for Snape to speak up again: "Weasley, I assure you that I would be the last person alive to kill Harry Potter. Perhaps someday you'll find out _why_," he said, not very politely. Had Ronald been able to see Snape's face, he would have seen a look that screamed _I know something you don't know! _in a very mature tone, of course.

They were all silent for a moment, none having anything to say. What _was _there to say? The wizarding world's hero was dead; as were three of Ronald's elder brothers. Which, he noticed, seemed to have been forgotten by the others.

"How did he die?" asked Hermione suddenly.

"I dunno," Ronald said, shrugging regretfully.

"I do," said Luna, calling attention to herself once again. "You-Know-Who killed him in his first year."

"How?" asked Hermione. "Why did that happen in this life but not in the other?"

"Because Ronald wasn't his best friend in this life," said Luna quietly. "So you three never stopped You-Know-Who from getting the Philosopher's Stone." She had realised that the Wizard hadn't exactly told her all the sides of the story. He had said that Voldemort had not been _thwarted._ He hadn't said that Harry had _died._

"Why wasn't Ron Harry's best friend?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"Because he was Miss Lovegood's," said Snape, having pieced the puzzle together during his silence.

"What—why was he _Luna's_ best friend—oh." Hermione had clearly remembered that Luna and Ronald had been friends when they were little; _Weasley Once Wished to Be Wife_ would probably have been the foremost recollection.

It was then that Luna noticed that her parents were nowhere to be found.

"Where are my Mum and Dad?" she wondered aloud, looking round in vain; perhaps they were on the floor in the blackness, asleep?

"Your mum and dad?" repeated Hermione bewilderedly. "They only took two people in here. You were with your parents?"

"Well, they were downstairs, but...Ronald was with them," Luna said, stopping in her search of the dark floor. "Do you know where they are?" she asked Ronald.

He shook his head, which again didn't do much. "The last thing I remember was your mum stunning me."

Silence.

"Miss Lovegood's mother _stunned_ you?" Snape asked incredulously. "She must be working for—"

"No," said Ronald, shaking his head once again. "She was saying I needed rest...that I must not have been feeling well, to have forgotten all the stuff I didn't remember."

"Like what?"

"Like everything. About this life, at least."

Silence.

"If your mother isn't one of them, then they must have her as well," reasoned Snape.

"But where? Why aren't my parents here too?"

"Well," thought Hermione aloud, "if they didn't put them here, they could be..."

"Nonsense," said Snape, dismissing the thought. "There are an...ample number of places to store prisoners here. That's why we're here in the first place."

"Where is here?" Ronald asked.

Snape answered, but Luna did not hear; she had just remembered something.

__

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore happily, or at least in a voice that seemed to be cheerful. "As you likely know, the world you returned to this past summer is not the same one you left at the end of the last."

Luna sat at the Ravenclaw table, watching the headmaster deliver the start-of-term speech, and she felt unbelievably nervous.

Why did I have to be in Ravenclaw?_ she wondered miserably. Gazing over at the Gryffindor table, she noticed that Ronald did not seem very happy about it either. Then again, no one seemed very happy at the Gryffindor table at all, did they?_

"It's really pretty horrible, isn't it?" said the girl next to her; a raven-haired third year whom she didn't know (not that she knew anybody). "What happened to Harry Potter."

"Why, what happened?" asked Luna, glancing briefly away from Ronald, who was now melancholically stuffing his mashed potatoes into his mouth.

No one had told her exactly what had gone on during Ronald's first year to do with You-Know-Who and the boy who lived no longer. Ron had said little on the subject because—at least Luna suspected—he didn't know very much himself. That didn't explain, however, why her parents hadn't told her.

"What happened?_" echoed the girl incredulously. "Have you been living in a bubble or something?"_

"No," Luna said. Why would I have been living in a bubble? _she wondered._

"You're weird. Not to know what happened to Harry Potter...I doubt you're_ going to fit in round here, Lovegood." And with that, she turned round to talk with her friends, leaving Luna to gaze at Ronald, and for him to occasionally frown back._

What happened?_ she wondered idly. _How bad could it have been?

The memory suddenly faded away, and another took its place.

__

"Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever," murmured Ronald for the thousandth time, with bated breath. "Ginny..."

"Someone is bound to get her out," said Luna comfortingly, sitting next to him. They were in the Great Hall, at the Gryffindor table. Under the circumstances, no one cared the slightest bit about Luna being there instead of at the Ravenclaw table. In fact, no one even noticed.

"But how? No one has a clue where the Chamber of Secrets is. Half the Muggle-borns in the school are petrified, or dead. The school is about to close_, Luna. How is anyone going to find Ginny?"_

Luna thought for a moment, taking a breath. "I don't know. But if she's supposed to be saved, she'll be saved. Don't you believe in fate?"

"Sure, Luna. Whatever you say." Ronald did not seem very convinced.

"Ronald," she said, thinking that perhaps it wouldn't do to have him sulk for the rest of his life. "No matter what happens, you have to deal with whatever you get. If Ginny dies—"

__

He cast her a sharp glance and sobbed into his dinner. She continued.

__

"If Ginny dies, you have to believe that everything is going to turn out all right anyway. Everything happens for a reason. If she dies, she was supposed to die."

He continued sobbing, and she could hardly comfort him if she broke down herself, could she? But she was close to doing just that.

"Ronald, just..." I'm not going to cry. That won't help him. _"Listen to me for a second."_

He looked up at her, wondering what she could possibly say.

"Ginny was my friend. I don't want to lose her any more than you do. But sobbing...that won't help. It's not going to bring her back from the Chamber of Secrets, it's not going to do anything. And Ginny wouldn't want you to cry."

What am I saying?_ she thought, not really knowing what she point she was trying to get across._

__

"Luna, you just have no idea how it feels...to lose someone. You've never felt it. You can't imagine it. It's the worst feeling in the world." He sobbed once again. "You_ try to stop crying after _your_ sister dies."_

"I don't have a sister."

"You know what I mean: that you could never know what I mean."

"I could. I do," she said. "I came really close to losing someone. I know it's the worst feeling in the world. But you just can't stop living."

Luna finally thought of how to say what she meant.

"It's not like you'll never see her again."

"How do you mean?" he asked. "'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.' That doesn't exactly sound like 'Be right back!' to me."

"You'll see her again. And those we love...they never really leave us at all, do they? You can still feel them...still love them."

She noticed the lack of sobbing sounds. He had fallen silent.

"How do you know so much about losing people?"

"I told you. I came really close to losing someone."

Someone important, _Luna thought._

"Luna? Luna are you OK?" Ronald poked her on the shoulder, and Luna realised her eyes had been closed. She opened them to find Ronald suddenly visible. Normally, it would not be very strange to be able to _see_ when you open your eyes, but she had been in total darkness, and when someone suddenly sees brightness after total darkness, it tends to hurt the eyes, even if it isn't really that bright.

**_

Next Chapter  
Thumbing a Ride

_** "Be assured, the wicked will not go unpunished,  
but those who are righteous will escape."  
Proverbs 11.21** Coming Soon**


	17. Thumbing a Ride

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47** Part Two  
Crossing the Rubicon**_ "Be assured, the wicked will not go unpunished,  
but those who are righteous will escape."  
Proverbs 11.21**_ Chapter Sixteen  
Thumbing a Ride _**

"Where'd the light come from?" Luna wondered aloud, sitting up to see a small fire in the middle of the cell.

"Miss Granger, in her _infinite_ wisdom," drawled Snape sarcastically, "had until now forgotten that she had a box of matches in her pocket. Convenient, isn't it?"

"I had other things on my mind," Hermione defended.

"Yes, like annoying the hell out of _me_," Snape muttered.

Feeling the warmth of the flames, Luna suddenly realised how very cold she was. She huddled closer to the flames, next to Ronald. Hermione sat cross-legged opposite her, next to Snape, who was farther away from the flames than any of the others. _Perhaps he doesn't want to catch his nightshirt on fire. It really wouldn't show very much,_ Luna thought,_ it's so black. Ashes would blend right in._

"You sure you're OK?" Ronald asked, not looking at Luna. She realised she hadn't answered him in the first place.

"I'm fine," she said. "Just drifted off."

"Right."

Silence. Hermione and Snape's brows were furrowed, contemplating the situation. Ronald kept glancing at Luna out of the corner of his eye, not really convinced she was completely OK. And Luna stared at the small flame, wondering.

__

Flap. Flap.

"There it was again!" exclaimed Hermione, jumping up and very nearly catching herself on the flames.

"There what was again?" Ronald said.

"That flapping noise! I heard it before—"

"Shush," said Snape harshly, moving so that his ear was pressed against the door.

__

Oh, thought Luna. _There's a door. I hadn't noticed._ The door was completely solid, no barred-window, no doorknob, no hinges. If not for the slight difference in colour, it would appear to be just more of the wall.

"It's gone," said Snape, pulling his ear away again.

"What could that _be?_" Hermione sounded distraught that she couldn't figure something out.

"I dunno," said Ronald, shrugging. "I didn't even hear anything."

"How could you not _hear it?_" said Hermione, incredulous. "It sounded like…a thestral flapping its wings _right_ outside the door…"

"Perhaps he's deaf…?" suggested Snape.

"I'm not _deaf_," defended Ronald. "I just didn't hear—"

"Oh, a wonderful defence, _that_ is."

"Will you please just _shut up?_" exclaimed Hermione suddenly. "_Both_ of you?"

"If we ever get back to class, you should know that Gryffindor will begin with a negative sum of points," said Snape, glaring.

Silence.

"_Could_ it have been a thestral?"

All heads turned to Luna, who was looking at the door thoughtfully.

"What?"

"I said, _could _it have been a thestral?" repeated Luna. "You said it as if you had dismissed the thought. What's to say it isn't?"

Silence.

"Well, it _could_ have been a thestral, I suppose," said Hermione begrudgingly. "But there's no reason to think so any more than anything else that has wings."

"Well, that rules out Snorkacks," said Ronald, to lighten the mood. Hermione looked at him strangely. "What?" he said. "Snorkacks _don't_ have wings."

"You say that as if there _are_ Snorkacks," said Hermione, sounding hurt.

"What—no, I was just—come _on_ Hermione, it was supposed to be a joke—"

"It _doesn't _rule out Snorkacks," corrected Luna. "_Crumple-Horned _Snorkacks don't have wings, but other kinds do—"

"Oh, now there are _other_ kinds of—" said Hermione.

"Silence," said Snape harshly, leaning back against the door. He put a finger to his lips and Hermione fell silent.

"…can' 'magine why _we_ gots to do it…"

"'Cause da's te _Dark_ Lor's said so. In't dat 'nuff fer you?"

"Bu' why us? Couldn'a Malfy-boy a dun it?"

Footsteps neared the cell door as the voices grew louder. Snape lay himself down on the floor as if he was sleeping and gestured for the others to do the same.

"Malfoy's too busy dees days fer stuffs like dis. We gots ter do it an' dat's _dat_. An' iffy ever hears you callin' 'im dat…I don' like yer chances, lit'l bro."

"Bu' I taught dis was 'portent? Whys we doin' it den?"

Hermione quickly smothered the small flame in the middle of the room and the darkness returned.

"'Cause _we's_ 'portent, stupid. Dark Lor's likes us 'specially he does."

The footsteps stopped suddenly, as did the voices. They were just outside the door now and Luna could hear something turn within the door as if a complex lock was being undone. Seeing a beam of light widening across the far wall, Luna snapped her eyes shut.

——

"They have been delivered, milord."

"They?" replied the Dark Lord, tapping his spidery fingers on the arm of his dark throne. "I do wish you'd learn to be more specific, Rookwood. There are so many people that are being delivered to me I begin to lose count…"

"The Lovegoods," said Rookwood.

"Oh yes, this is sure to be interesting…" said the Dark Lord, grinning. "They're supposed to be barmy, you know. The two parents and the girl, yes?"

Rookwood nodded. "And the girl's boyfriend."

"_Boyfriend? _Why would you bring her _boyfriend?_" the Dark Lord asked.

Rookwood grinned, knowing that his master would be pleased. "Because he is a Weasley."

"A Weasley?" The Dark Lord smirked. "Yes, this is bound to be _very_ interesting."

"Here they are now," said Rookwood, noting the opening of the chamber door.

"Are we _there_ yet?" asked a dark-haired man beseechingly. "I didn't even get to put on my comfy slippers! MY FEET HURT!"

"Shut up, you loony!" said the Death Eater dragging the man through the door, gripping him by the arm.

"Why?" asked the man—London Lovegood, Voldemort supposed. "It's not as though you led us down these dark and scary corridors so that we could be interviewed by some megaloman—"

"_Please_ be quiet, London," said the woman—Cynthia Lovegood—pleadingly.

"Yes, please do," said Voldemort, smirking.

London looked up at him quizzically as the Death Eater physically tossed London at Voldemort's feet. Cynthia was simply let go of by her Death Eater.

Voldemort looked at them shrewdly. "You said there were going to be four of them," he said to Rookwood. "Where are the other two?"

"They are…" Rookwood looked at the empty doorway. "I'm sure they'll be here in a moment."

"They better be," said Voldemort threateningly. He turned to the Lovegoods. "So how are we today?"

——

"Wakey wakey," said a voice above Luna's head. She felt a finger on her cheek. "You know," said the voice, "she a pretty one. Da eyes coul' do wit a bit o' shrinkin', but…"

Luna opened her right eye, the one nearest to the floor, to see Ronald gritting his teeth, struggling to keep his eyes closed. She snapped it shut again.

"Wake up, lit'l girl," said the voice, patting her face. "Wake up er I'll _make_ ya wake up." Luna felt a wand poke at her temple, and her eyes snapped open involuntarily.

"There ya are!" said the man, smiling horribly, just in front of her face now. "Now which one a dees is yer boyfriend?" He gestured at the three others, lying on the floor.

"Oh come _on_ lit'l bro," said the other man. "Which one do ya _think?_"

"Well it coulda been da olda one—hangon!" He moved over to beside Snape. "Dis one looks familia!"

"Ya eyes playin' tricks on ya, lit'l bro," said the older-looking Death Eater. "Da's jus'..." The man took a step back and poked his head out the open cell door. "...some pafessor er somtin."

"A pafessor?" said the other man, leaving Luna momentarily unguarded as he stepped over Hermione to stand next to Snape. The man shook his head. "He's too youn' to o' been one a mine...an' look!"

"Wat?"

"Dat nose! I _know_ I seen _dat_ conk b'fore!"

"Whatchoo mean?" said the older one, walking over to join his brother in inspecting Snape's face. For a moment, Luna was sure they were going to wake him up, before she remembered he wasn't asleep in the first place.

"It's all hooked an' stuffs! Bu' where'd I see't b'fore?"

"Does look kinda f'milia," said the older one, quirking his head as if a new angle would help him identify Snape.

Apparently, it did.

"Da's Sev'rus Snape, dat is!" he shouted, pointing as if he needed to specify who he meant.

"Snape? I know dat name..."

"Idiot! He's da one dat nearly dun us in!"

"Yer righ'! I fergot."

"You'd ferget yer own name if a dint remind you erreyday," said the other, peering closely at Snape's face. "D'you tink da Dark Lord'd mind if we..."

Snape's brow involuntarily twitched, but the Death Eater didn't seem to notice. Luna, who alone of the four had her eyes open, saw his hand move suddenly, silently.

"I don't tink we should," said the younger regretfully. "Migh' ge' us in trouble."

"S'pose so," said the elder in the same tone. "We'd be'er be goin' den."

"Won't you stay?" drawled Snape, drawing the Death Eater's wand upon its owner, who jumped back suddenly.

"How'd you get dat?" he exclaimed, arms raising automatically in a sign of surrender.

Snape ignored him, turning his attention towards the younger Death Eater, who still had a wand. The latter was not a very quick draw, however, and Snape was able to disarm him before he could do anything.

"We wasn't really goin' da kill ya!" said the older one in a panicked voice.

"Oh, no of _course_ not," said Snape, backing the two into a wall, taking no care to make sure neither stepped on Ronald while doing so. "You were merely wondering if the Dark Lord would mind you giving me a haircut."

"Right! Tha's exa'ly right!" said the same Death Eater.

Snape snorted contemptuously. He smirked. "Nighty night," he said, before muttering "_Stupefy!_"

He walked over to both unconscious forms and tapped them over the head with the wand, muttering something Luna could not hear.

"Disillusionment Charm?" inquired Hermione, now sitting upright, making her way to her feet.

"Yes," said Snape, tapping the other Death Eater. "We'll have to hurry, as there's no telling how long it will last with this wand." He turned round. "You can get up Weasley," he said. "The bogey men are gone now."

——

"My feet are killing me, that's how we are today," said London, irritated. An idea seemed to spark within him. He leaned towards Voldemort and whispered, "Do _you _have any comfy slippers I could borrow?"

Voldemort blinked his scarlet eyes in a disbelieving fashion. He gestured for Rookwood to come closer. "I do believe I must have heard wrong..." he hissed to his servant, who shook his head regretfully.

"No?" said London. "Dagnabit!" A confuzzled look came over his face. "Did I just say dagnabit? I hate that word—I must be feeling drowsy." He nodded sagely, confident.

"Can somebody _shut him up?_" Voldemort said exasperatedly.

"Shut him up!" Rookwood shouted at Cynthia, pointing at London.

"Please be quiet, London," said Cynthia quietly.

Silence.

"What was that?" said Voldemort suddenly, turning round in his dark throne. He peered into the darkness of the chamber, wondering what he had heard.

"What was what?" asked London conversationally.

"That voice—" began Voldemort, before turning sharply to point at Cynthia. "I thought you told him to shut up!"

"_Please,_ be quiet, London," begged Cynthia.

Silence.

"So," began the Dark Lord, settling back down in his throne, "now that our interruptions are—hopefully—over with, we may begin with—"

"You know," said London, "that's not the correct use of 'hopefully'. It's not supposed to mean 'it is to be hoped', but 'with hope.' It's a rather common error, though—"

"THAT'S _IT!_" shouted Voldemort, standing up on his throne's dais and drawing his wand. "_Crucio!_"

"No!" shouted Cynthia, moving to move in front of her husband. She didn't get a chance, however, as the curse suddenly was lifted. London crumpled on the ground, and she dropped to his side.

"What _was that?_" Voldemort said once again, looking round in confusion. A sudden look of enlightenment encompassed his features. "Of course..." he whispered, disappearing with a _crack!_

——

Snape, as he held the wand, led the way out of the cell, with Hermione close behind. Neither showed any sign of surprise when they bore witness to the corridor. Luna, however, couldn't help but gasp.

The corridor's walls were stone, corroded and ancient-looking. Luna felt as if she was in a vast cave, apart from the cell doors that appeared every few feet. For a moment she was confused by the fact that there were large windows into each cell, but then she realised that they were one-way openings. At the end of the corridor, however, was what had made Luna gasp.

A Dementor hovered there, turning suddenly towards the group. If it had eyes, Luna felt confident that they would have been blazing as the spectre charged down the corridor.

They were in Azkaban.

"I suggest we run," said Snape, and Ronald tugged on Luna's shoulder to get he to move in the opposite direction.

"_We are gathered here today..."_ began a voice in Luna's head. She shook herself to clear it, and began running with the others.

As they ran, Luna caught glimpses of the passing cells. Most of the prisoners were pressing their heads against the doors, trying to hear what was going on. And most of the prisoners were people Luna knew, or at least knew of.

In one cell was Neville Longbottom, looking frightened and confused at the sudden racket. Luna wondered why he was there; an old woman beside him seemed to be his grandmother.

"What has Voldemort _done?_" said Hermione disbelievingly, also looking in the cells as she ran.

In another cell were the Corner brothers, and Luna almost felt a bit of happiness for a second before a thought hit her: _Who _hadn't_ been taken captive?_

Luna's thoughts were interrupted, however, when her face collided with Ronald's back.

"What is that?" said Ronald, sounding terrified.

Rubbing her nose, she looked round him to see why they had stopped. She didn't see anything. Neither, apparently, did Hermione.

"What is _what?_" said Hermione, trying to pull Snape along, who had stopped dead in his tracks, causing the collision. "Why are we stopping!"

"That, Miss Granger," said Snape apprehensively, "is a thestral."

The skeletal beast was thundering down the corridor, wings outstretched, touching the walls—not that Luna could see it.

"Bloody hell," said Ronald. "I can see thestrals?"

"Apparently," said Luna. "But I can't."

"Damn it," muttered Snape, looking backwards towards the Dementor. "This is one _hell_ of a predicament."

"I should say so," said Hermione breathlessly. "Again, what has Voldemort _done?_"

"Something bad," said Luna.

Snape, apparently deciding against the spectral horse, turned round and began running at the Dementor, wand raised.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" he shouted, and Luna had to wonder what memory he was recalling, because it was apparently a very happy one.

"Your Patronus is a _cat?_" Hermione said disbelievingly as they passed the spectre, a great silver feline bowling the Dementor to one side of the corridor.

"It is a _cougar,_" defended Snape. "At least it is not a lion."

"No, that would be _dreadfully _embarrassing, wouldn't it Severus?" said a high-pitched voice. The group turned the sharp corner to face the face that they least wanted to face, and once again each banged into the person in front of them.

"Let's go for a ride, eh?" said Lord Voldemort, smirking. He tossed something—it looked like a ball—to Snape, who caught it reflexively against his intentions, and as Hermione was pressed against his back, Ron against hers, and Luna against Ron's, the whole group disappeared into a swirl of colour and sound.

**_ Author's Note_**

Review.

I apologise profusely for the delays between the chapters. This last one _would _have gone up about a week ago, if not for the fact that the electricity to only room in my house with an internet connection had been turned off. I promise, however, that the next chapter _will _be up in the normal (it's not really normal anymore, is it?) five days time, pending electrical disaster.

Review.

**_ Next Chapter  
Help!_** "The object of persecution is persecution.  
The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power."  
George Orwell** Coming Soon**


	18. Help!

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47** Part Two  
Crossing the Rubicon**_ "The object of persecution is persecution.  
The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power."  
George Orwell**_ Chapter Seventeen  
Help! _**

With the sound of a Portkey—or, more likely the sound of the people falling on their bottoms after _taking_ a Portkey—Snape, Hermione, Ronald and Luna arrived in a very dark room, which was not entirely shocking to them. After all, their eyes were still used to the darkness, and Luna even felt it a bit comforted by it.

"I _told_ you it made a sound," said Hermione, though Luna didn't have the faintest idea who she was talking to, or what about. "And a cougar technically is a _mountain_ lion," she added quietly.

"Not the time," muttered Snape, rubbing his arm as he stood up. Luna noticed that he no longer held the wand. She wondered what had happened to it.

"Where are we?" said Ronald.

"How should I know?" said Hermione, sounding irritated.

A sudden brightness impeded upon their eyes, causing them to throw their arms over their faces.

"What _is_ that, a spotlight?" said Hermione, bewildered, as she tried removing her arms, only to hurriedly put them back.

"Luna!"

Luna, on reflex, turned towards the origin of the exclamation, with no regard whatsoever for her sight (or lack thereof). Her eyes had soon adjusted to the glare, and she saw that what was containing them in this formerly-dark room was a great cage—no. The cage was a room _within_ a room, and on three sides of it there were at least twenty more feet of outer-room, though the walls were still clothed in darkness.

On the fourth side there was another cage, congruent to the one the four were in now. It was only a few feet away, and the speaker was against the side of the cage, her face pressed against the bars.

"Mum!" exclaimed Luna, rushing to the bars of her cage as well. "You're OK!"

"A little ground up," said Cynthia Lovegood, smiling slightly. "I see you and Ronald are all right." She was looking past Luna. "But who are those two?"

"I'll explain later," said Luna, indescribably relieved to see her mother alive and awake and, for all intents and purposes, OK. "But where's Daddy?"

"Oh," said Cynthia, frowning a little. "Well, he's a little _more_ ground up..." She peered over her shoulder, a concerned look on her face. "He—You-Know-Who cursed him. I think he's in some sort of shock, and these _GUARDS WON'T DO A DAMN THING FOR HIM!"_

The last words were shouted over Luna's shoulder, and the girl looked round and now saw that there was a large closed door with two black-robed, masked guards standing on either side of it. They were chatting with each other and gave no indication that they heard Cynthia's cry.

Luna looked back at her mother, and saw behind her that London Lovegood lay on the cold floor, eyes open, staring blankly at some point in the distance. Luna had never seen her father look like that—anything _near_ like that. He had always been...alive. That was a good word for it. Very, very alive.

"Is that your father?" asked Hermione, walking up to the bars on Luna's right and peering at London. "He looks more or less catatonic."

"Oh, _that's_ comforting," muttered Cynthia, glaring at Hermione. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione. "You must be Mrs Lovegood."

"I prefer _Cynthia_, but yes," said Cynthia, evidently not liking Hermione very much. "Are you two friends?"

"In a way," said Luna.

"It's all very complicated," said Hermione. "Now what exactly happened to your husband?"

Cynthia's brow furrowed. "What's it to you? You can't do anything to help him."

"I do suggest we all get along," said Snape, in such a way that both Ronald and Hermione came very near to snorting out-loud. Cynthia and Luna didn't find it very humorous, however.

"And who are you?" Cynthia said, brows furrowing as she looked at Snape. "I daresay you're a bit too old to be a friend of Luna's even _in a way_."

"I am Severus Snape," said Snape. "the Potions Master at—" He stopped, thinking. "I _was_ the Potions Master at Hogwarts School."

"Was?" said Cynthia. "What, did they sack you for being too chummy with your students? I mean, what are you doing here with them, anyway?"

"Chummy?" snorted Ronald. "Oh, he's not too chummy. He's not _chummy_ at all."

"I would very much prefer not to be spending the summer holidays with three of my students," said Snape defensively. "Particularly _these_ three students..."

"So you're still a professor then?" said Cynthia. Luna couldn't see why her mother was being so quizzical all of a sudden. It was as if she was defending herself, defending Luna too. It was odd.

"I'm not sure at the moment," said Snape. "And as I don't feel any particular need to narrate my entire life story to you, do you think I may try to get us out of here?"

"Oh, there's no way out of here," said Cynthia, shaking her head. "I've looked. Not a single weak bar, nor enough space for even Luna to squeeze through. We're just plain stuck."

"That's not very optimistic," said Hermione reproachfully. "Luna always gave off a sort of...sanguine vibe. 'Sanguine' means 'optimistic'," she clarified, as Ronald looked like he didn't have a clue as to what she was talking about.

"Yes, well I've always been the pessimist in the family," said Cynthia.

"Will you all just be quiet?" said Snape. "I'm trying to test these bars for any backfire curses."

And so he was. Luna looked over and saw that he had taken the wand out again, and was now tapping the bars lightly.

"How do you still have that?" Hermione asked bewilderedly. "I thought Voldemort took it."

"Don't say the—" began Snape, but to no avail.

"I'll take that," said a familiar, high-pitched voice. The wand flew out of Snape's hand, and he glared at Hermione, who mouthed "sorry" silently.

"I do apologise for the wait," Voldemort drawled, having appeared suddenly just between Cynthia and Luna, between the cages. Voldemort faced Luna and company, and smirked. "I had an unavoidable detainment."

"You evil _bastard!_" shouted Cynthia suddenly, surprising them all by reaching her arms out through the bars in attempt to get hold of Voldemort by the neck. He spun round before she got a chance, however, and shook his head.

"Oh, you shouldn't have done that," he said, turning the wand he had taken towards her. "_Crucio!_"

"MUM!" shouted Luna in vain, tears seeping out of her eyes as she watched her mother writhe in pain. Ronald — not knowing anything better to do — put a hand on Luna's shoulder and looked away.

Luna, on the other hand, could not look away, despite how much part of her wanted to. It practically killed her, to see her mother in pain, and there just behind lay her father, victim of the same curse. Her eyes were fixed on the sight, and she could not blink, even when her eyes began to water more than they were already doing.

Voldemort snapped his wand upward, breaking his connection with Cynthia, who then collapsed to the ground beside London. Luna still did not look away.

"Mum..." Luna said weakly, as she stared at the motionless form.

"It'll be OK," said Ronald in a very awkward manner.

"Oh, isn't that _sweet_," said Voldemort, turning to smirk at Ronald and Luna. He turned to the group at large. "Who's next? How about you, Weasley?" He gestured for Ronald to come forward, and for some reason he obeyed — it didn't seem to be his choice.

"No..." said Luna, who noticed idly that her face had tears on it. _When did I start crying?_ she wondered.

"_How are we going to get out of this?_" Hermione hissed to Snape out of the corner of her mouth.

"_Who says we are?_" replied Snape.

"_Crucio!_" Voldemort cursed, and Ronald let loose a scream of pain that echoed inside Luna's head again and again and again...

"Why are you doing this?" demanded Luna of Voldemort, and it was a sufficiently unexpected question to cause the Dark Lord to cease his cursing of Ronald.

"Why am I doing this?" echoed Voldemort incredulously. He chuckled evilly. "Because I _can_, of course!"

And now the Dark Lord directed his wand at Luna. "Have you ever felt it, Lovegood?" he asked. "That unbearable pain? It seems your parents never had...nor Weasley. I can't imagine you would have..." He seemed to be talking to himself, more than her. She felt her feet moving beneath her, and all-of-a-sudden she was directly before him, Voldemort's long wand sticking into her neck.

"_Crucio!_" shouted Voldemort, and suddenly pain coursed throughout Luna as it had only done once before in her lifetime—and then, that wasn't even _in_ this lifetime. It had been before, at the Riddle House. _"For my own entertainment pleasure,"_ as Voldemort had put it then.

The pain was so great that it was hardly pain at all. Luna could not feel the floor connect with her head as she lost her balance, and even if she could have, it wouldn't have added any noticeable pain, for Luna's nerves were already overloaded. She hardly knew her own name.

"Help," said a voice quietly, and Voldemort's wand jerked upward, breaking its connection with Luna. _Yes, that's my name: Luna. That's it. I remember now..._

"Who said that?" said Voldemort suddenly, turning round to see both London and Cynthia still laying on the floor, motionless. He turned back towards Luna, dismissing the voice as a figment of his imagination, and raised his wand again. Before he uttered the curse, however, Luna heard a musical hum, and she knew at once to whom the voice belonged.

"_Help me if you can, I'm feeling down..._" murmured a very drowsy London Lovegood, and suddenly he opened his eyes. "Where am I?" he said, attempting to sit up. "My head hurts...and my feet are sore!"

"Oh, not again..." hissed Voldemort exasperatedly, turning round. "What will it take to shut him up?"

London blinked, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm dizzy," he said, "and confuzzled. What happened to my cupcakes? Can somebody help me get my feet back on the ground?"

"Shut up!" shouted Voldemort into London's cage. "You do not realise that I hold your very life in my hands, and that I could very easily—"

"Life?" echoed London. "The cereal? Really? I'm very hungry, you know, and—"

"_Imperio!_" exclaimed Voldemort, unable to contain himself a moment longer. And an odd look came over London's face, as his hand took hold of his tongue, and he started pulling...

"Dad!" said Luna, horrified.

"Iwonumou!" said London, and somehow Luna felt he had said "It won't come out!"

This did nothing to help her calm down.

"Stop pulling!" shouted Luna futilely. The other three conscious prisoners could do nothing but stare at the spectacle, until—

__

Crack!

Voldemort spun round once again, and his connection with London was lost just as blood started to appear in the latter's mouth. He quickly stopped pulling and closed his mouth tight.

"Where did they go?" Voldemort demanded, and only then did Luna notice that both Snape and Hermione had disappeared. _Where had they gone?_ thought Luna. _And why did they leave the rest of us? That wasn't very nice._

"I have had it up to _here_," said Voldemort, putting his right hand at about his shoulder-level, "with you all. What is the matter with all of you? Can't you all just wait _patiently_ for your impending death, and stop disappearing and distracting me and such?"

None of the prisoners felt that this merited an answer, and none of them gave one.

London sat on the floor, his hands clamped over his mouth so tightly that he was turning white. Both Ronald and Luna were against the bars of their cage, Luna crying and Ronald not knowing what to do, or what to say, or what to think. Cynthia lay unconscious on the floor, oblivious to all the goings-on about her.

And the Dark Lord stood between the two cages, looking back and forth between them, and wondering how two of his prisoners had just disappeared before his very scarlet eyes.

"Why are we even here?" said Luna, surprising even herself. "Why did you kidnap us?"

"I thought I told you that," said Voldemort, facing Luna now, and determinedly not turning again. "Because I can."

"That's not a reason," said Luna. "Why are we here? Why did you lock us up in cages to torture us?"

"Because I _can_," said Voldemort once again. "That's the only reason."

Luna shook her head. "No; you're just not telling us."

Now the Dark Lord looked annoyed. "And why _should_ I tell you _why_ you're here? You are my prisoner! I may do with you whatever I like, and there's nothing you can do about it. Now shut up and let me think."

Luna fell back from the bars of the cage as if burned, and indeed there were burn marks on her palms. She sat down on the floor of the cage and watched and waited. Ronald sat down next to her. Voldemort looked between the two cages once again, apparently in thought.

Across from them, London sat, looking very much like an overgrown four-year-old, glaring at the big meanie who had put the Imperius Curse on him. If he dared take his hands away from his mouth, he would probably have said something like "That wasn't very nice, you know!" but perhaps it was better that he didn't.

"That's it," said Voldemort suddenly. "I don't know why it took me so long to think of." He smirked. "I'll just kill you all and be done with it."

The Dark Lord pulled his wand again in his left hand, and pointed it at Ronald.

"Go to hell," said Ronald, not knowing anything else to say, nor any way to prepare for what he knew was about to come.

"You first," said Voldemort, and whether he was replying to Ronald's statement, or merely saying who was to be his first victim, it was impossible to tell. Not that it mattered.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

——

"Oof." Hermione fell very awkwardly atop something rather lumpy. She couldn't figure what it was until it rolled out from under her.

"I would appreciate if you did not take your time sniffing my robes, or whatever you were doing," snarled Snape, standing up and brushing his robes as if she had gotten dust on them.

"Sorry," Hermione said, standing up as well and being thankful that — for what was the fourth time in as many unpleasant transportations — it was dark, for she was quite obviously embarrassed after landing on her Potions Master.

"Where are we?" said Snape, ignoring her apology.

"I can only imagine," said Hermione, squinting to try to find a bit of light in the darkness, "that we are back in Logica-Land. Where else could we have gone?"

"I do not care to venture a guess," said Snape, reaching his arms out in front of him and taking a cautious step forwards. "There doesn't seem to be anything blocking the path on the—" Hermione heard a thud and felt a reverberating shake of the "—floor."

"What did you trip on?" Hermione asked, not really having a clue in which direction to squint. "Where are you?"

"I'm on the floor," said Snape, "and I'm not alone."

"What do you mean?" said Hermione, walking round to try to find Snape. Suddenly, she felt a hand grab her arm and she was pulled down to the floor, where her hand collided with...

"Feathers?" she mused aloud, and looking more carefully, she could now see that laying before the two of them was none other than— "Harpia?" she said disbelievingly.

"Hermione...Granger?" wheezed the Harpy, much to Hermione's relief—she had thought her dead.

"Yes," said Hermione, tucking a hair behind her ear. "What happened to you?"

"A man...attacked me...from behind," said Harpia. Hermione felt her try to flap her wings, but they did not lift more than a few inches off the ground.

"What?" said Hermione. "A man?"

"Who?" said Snape.

"Man...in dark robes." Harpia gasped for breath, and Hermione realised that the Harpy was in dire need of help. Had a lung collapsed? Hermione couldn't tell in the current conditions, and Harpia needed attention as fast as possible.

"What did he look like?" said Snape.

"Queen Luna must...beware..."

"What did he _look like,_" demanded Snape.

The Harpy gazed up at the two, and suddenly Hermione could see her eyes, albeit dimly. Harpia looked at Snape and took a breath.

"You."

And she did not breathe again.

**_ Next Chapter  
Little Girl Lost_** "The prologues are over. It is a question, now,  
Of final belief. So, say that final belief  
Must be in a fiction. It is time to choose."  
Wallace Stevens** Coming Soon**


	19. Little Girl Lost

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47** Part Two  
Crossing the Rubicon**_ "The prologues are over. It is a question, now,  
Of final belief. So, say that final belief  
Must be in a fiction. It is time to choose."  
Wallace Stevens**_ Chapter Eighteen  
Little Girl Lost _**

Luna was numb. Her eyes blurred and she could no longer feel her body. She could not tell, but it felt to her that the curse had been aimed at her, instead of...instead of...

Ronald.

Ronald was dead.

The solitary thought ran laps throughout Luna's mind: _Ronald is dead, Ronald is dead, Ronald is dead, Ronald IS DEAD, RONALD is dead, RONALD IS DEAD_...

Luna stared, disbelieving, at the lifeless face that lay before her on the floor of the cell. She, who had been now perched on her two feet, fell back on her bottom and rolled backwards, her eyes somehow still seeing Ronald completely. She could not say a word.

"Who wants to go next?" Voldemort asked.

"That wasn't nice at _all!_" shouted London, taking his hands away from his mouth for a moment, so he could speak. "How _dare_ you! What right do you have to do such a thing! If you plan on doing that to my _baby_, I'll—"

"You, then?" Voldemort inferred, turning to London. "All right, if you insist..."

"That's not what I—"

Luna couldn't hear — she just _couldn't_ — she covered her ears, she did everything she could to prevent herself knowing what was about to happen...

__

Thud, she heard (or perhaps felt?) anyway. Her father had fallen to the floor. She opened an eye and squinted through her fingers.

Dead.

"No!" Luna cried, tears streaming down her face. "Daddy..."

"Your turn," said Voldemort, and suddenly Luna found herself at wand-point once again, and she closed her eye, covered her head with her arms, and then she was gone.

——

Luna lay on the cool grass, the soft whistling of the wind passing by her ears. She stared blankly at the sky. She couldn't see anything. It was night-time, and there were no stars, nor lights of any kind.

No moon.

The wind stopped whistling and with it went all the noise in the world. The sensation was something she had felt before, but never like this. Never this...strong. She lay with no comfort, no feeling of safeness, of security.

Her eyes could not see in the darkness; her ears could not hear in the silence; her skin could not feel in the cold.

Her world tilted and she fell to her side. She lay facedown now, her nose pressed into the earth. She supposed it should have hurt, but she felt no pain.

The sky was sneaking up on her. She could feel it. She could not see the nothingness above her, and she knew it was taking advantage of her disadvantage.

She closed her eyes, and she saw the nothingness slip away. She looked into her eyelids and saw her past, both pasts; her life, both lives.

Snapshots of her pasts flashed before her, passing without distinction from each other, and she was helpless to do anything but watch—watch as her life passed before her eyes.

——

She smiled as she looked through the little window, at the cupcakes in the oven. Daddy would love them, yes he would. Most _certainly _he would. Daddy _loved _multi-coloured cupcakes. Es_pecially _on his _special_ day!

"Mummy, are they ready yet?" she asked, turning round to consult her frantic mother.

"Yes, yes, go ahead," said Cynthia Lovegood, stretching to try to pin a pin into the doorframe to hold a _HAPPY BIRTHDAY!_ banner.

"Mum!" said Luna admonishingly. "You're _not_ paying attention to the cupcakes! Nor to me!"

"Oh, yes...sorry dear," said Cynthia, wincing as she stretched a bit too far. She stepped on the arm of the chair she was standing on. "Why do our windows have to be so damn high up?"

Luna giggled. "You said a—" Her eyes widened. "Mum, watch out!"

"Wha—" said Cynthia bewilderedly, finally pinning the banner onto the pin. But it was too late. The chair toppled over, and Cynthia landed with a _plop!_ directly in the second batch of cupcakes that were waiting to be cooked.

Once she saw that her mother was all right, Luna giggled once again. "You're a rainbow!" she said, pointing at the mess on her mother's apron.

"Yes, but she's a very _beautiful _rainbow, you must admit," said a voice from behind Luna. She turned and saw her daddy smiling from the staircase. "_My _very beautiful rainbow."

"London!" cried the multi-coloured Cynthia. "You're not supposed to be awake yet! And I wouldn't be _anybody's_ rainbow if I'd just used magic, but I knew you wouldn't like that, so thank your rainbow, will you?"

"I'll be sure to," said London, taking Cynthia's apron in his hand and seemingly inspecting its lovely pattern. Then, without warning, he licked it.

"Hey!" said Cynthia, looking downward at him. "That's not cooked yet!"

"And now her apron's all icky!" added Luna.

"Like it wasn't before!" said London. "It's food — delicious food, too — and that's enough for me."

"Well, happy birthday," said Cynthia unenthusiastically. "If only I'd manage just one year _without_ making a complete mess of myself..."

__

Ding!

"Cupcakes are ready, cupcakes are ready!" said Luna excitedly, jumping towards the stove. London spun round and caught her by the arms.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked. "That stove's _hot_. Only _grown_-ups get to take the yummy cupcakes out of the oven."

"That leaves you out, then," said Cynthia to London, and she took the cupcakes out herself. "Who wants which?"

"I want witch," said London, taking Cynthia's arm in his hand and inspecting it. "Does it come in any other colours?"

Luna giggled, and suddenly found herself in a wide-open field. She sat atop a black horse, and all she could see for miles was a single tree by an old farmhouse, far away.

She took a breath and noticed the tears on her cheeks. Had she been crying again? She'd told herself to stop that. It was getting old. She cried, and cried, all day long she did, and she wished she would just _stop_. Well that was why she was here. To feel better. That's what she did this for. That's why she rode, after all.

The mare's name was Adeline, for her grandmother. Luna's grandmother, that is—her mother's mother. The horse comforted Luna, though Luna did doubt very much that Adeline did it consciously. She seemed to not even notice Luna's troubles, but Luna didn't care. She loved Adeline very much, but right now all she wanted was release—relief from the grief that had smothered her since...it had happened.

Luna bit back more tears and devoted her mind to feeling the wind whip against her face. The fresh wetness of her tears sort-of-stung, but at the same time felt almost good. She breathed in the rushing air, and breathed out again and continued riding and wished only to forget.

And then she was flying.

She was no longer riding on Adeline, but on a thestral, and she was far in the air. There in front of her were Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and..._and Harry and Ginny!_ And there was Ronald! They were alive!

Of course they were alive. What had she been thinking?

The humid air of that June evening sky was not uncomfortable, but instead not even noticeable, as Luna did not pay attention to it. They were going to save Sirius Black, or Stubby Boardman as Luna thought of him. Yes, Harry had said that he was in trouble. But how had he known? Luna wondered about this. Had he seen it?

She frowned. Well, Harry at least was _doing_ something about it, unlike someone else. Yes, he at least didn't just _lay _there, and let somebody he loved die.

She shook her head. They were over London now. She always liked going to London. It never grew old, really—especially not _to _London himself. He'd _always _loved going to London, since even before she was _born_. It may have had to do with his name, or perhaps simply the cafés and sweetshops.

The six of them landed their thestrals and suddenly Luna was alone and only six-years-old again. She was cold. _It _was cold, whatever _it_ was. Everything was cold, to Luna. Except perhaps the ground, since Luna wore her small stuffed Snorkack slippers. How had she managed to get out here anyway? She couldn't remember. She had woken up and ran. Why? Why had she run?

She was in the woods. They began in her backyard, and they were very large, compared to some of the little forests in Ottery St. Catchpole. The trees were rather spaced-apart, so it was not very dark and she could see very well, but there was an air of mist around the place, a fog that she could not see through. It was quite ethereal, or would have been if Luna knew what 'ethereal' meant.

Luna looked round and round but nothing looked familiar. She was lost, she knew. But what does one do, if they know they are lost? She could scream, perhaps. But what good would that do? Surely she was miles away from civilisation? No one can hear you scream if you are miles away from civilisation.

She took a breath and let it out, noticing that she could see her breath. So it was very very very cold, she knew, colder than even she had thought, because seeing your breath means it is very very very cold.

Wrapping her arms round herself, she tried to keep warm. Should she try to walk? To find her way home? No, no, she'd simply never make it. Or she'd walk even _farther _away she might. That would be even worse.

She couldn't even hear anything, and that just made it all the worse. What was she, a helpless six-year-old, to do against the Big Bad Wolf, if he lived in these woods, hmm? What then? What would she do if she got eaten? What would her parents do without her? How would they ever make birthday cupcakes?

All the thoughts of food led Luna to realise how very hungry she was. She hadn't eaten since supper the day before, and that had been a very long time ago. Luna didn't know how long ago, of course, because for one she could not tell time, and for another she did not have a watch anyway. She was sure that it had been a very long time because she wasn't at all tired and that meant she'd gotten a full night of sleep.

Luna, for one reason or another, looked up at the sky. It was _purple _of all colours, and there was the moon, clear as could be, which only stood to add to Luna's troubles. Perhaps it had been longer than she thought, and it was already night again? Or maybe it was less time gone by than she thought, and it was still the night before? But why was the sky purple? Was it sick? Could the sky get the sniffles? Would it rain bogeys if the sky had a runny nose?

Luna was so very confused that she decided to sit down on a nearby rock, which was shaped almost like a chair, Luna reckoned. And as one does not typically find a comfy chair in the middle of the woods, it is good to take advantage of something that _looks_ like a chair, even if it is hard and rocky.

Luna sat on that chair and tried to think about what to do, but she didn't get a chance, because all of a sudden she was in a very comfy chair that was actually a chair, and not a rock, and around her was not a bunch of trees and fog, but a great hall and carpets and magnificent windows.

What on earth had happened?

"The Queen has arrived!" exclaimed an excited little creature down in front of Luna, and she spun round in her seat to see who this queen was, because Luna had never ever seen a queen before, but saw instead a little girl just her own age, with dirty-blonde hair and a peculiar expression.

"Are you the Queen?" Luna questioned the girl, though it seemed absurd that this girl could possibly be a queen of any sort. But the oddest thing happened when Luna spoke the words: the girl spoke them at the same time! Luna blinked, and so did the girl. It took until Luna mouthed the words to her entire lullaby before she realised that she was looking at a mirror.

"But what a real-looking mirror!" thought Luna aloud. "I don't even see any glass! I bet I could just walk right on through it, and..."

But Luna was gone, back into the woods, and now she was older. Eight years old, and she was lost again. How did she manage to get herself lost again? Well, at least now she was mature enough to know that the Big Bad Wolf wasn't going to get her. He wasn't real, you know.

Perhaps Luna had come out again on purpose, to return to the world she had met two years before, that _Logica-Land._ Or perhaps the world was inviting her back again? For once again she did not remember coming out to the woods.

She walked and walked this time, because she didn't want to simply stand around and wait for frostbite. If you're outside in very cold temperatures you could get that, Luna knew. And it was very cold again, just like it had been the last time. And, just like the last time as well, Luna found the chair—the throne, as Luna thought of it.

She sat on it again and she was taken again and she was in the room again and there was the mirror behind her. _She _was Queen, of course, the Queen of Logica-Land. Luna figured it must be rather upsetting to not have a queen for two whole years, and she felt very sorry for her subjects. They must be very glad to have her back, she reasoned.

"So glad you're back!" said the little creature that she knew was called Bob. It seemed to Luna a very plain name for a unique creature such as Bob, but he didn't seem to mind it. Luna called him Robert, which was a better name, even though Bob didn't seem to like it very much. She was his queen, after all, and she could call him whatever she liked.

"I am happy to be back as well, Robert," said Queen Luna. "Has anything changed much since I first was here?"

"No, not much at all," said Robert. He folded his little flappy ears over his head, thinking. "Oh, yes, those Explorers you thought of—the response was wonderful, and we've had many volunteers. They've already found two new breeds of Snorkack. They are determining the names as we speak, and—"

"Could I decide the names?" Luna interjected softly. "I'd like to decide the names."

"Um..." Robert looked up at her from his height by her knee. "Of course, milady. Just as soon as they report."

"Thank you," said Luna.

"You are the Queen, after all," said Robert, smiling. He looked down, away. "I, um...I'll go fetch something for you to eat. You must be hungry, after your long journey."

"Very much so, thank you," said Luna.

"Be right back then," said Robert, and he left Luna to admire her hall.

She wondered how this had happened. The world _had_ seemed to pop out of nowhere. Should she tell somebody about it? No, what was the point of that? Then she might not be queen any more! She'd keep it to herself. It was her kingdom, after all, or perhaps her queendom?

But she was not in it any longer, because she was back in the woods. This time she was not alone, nor was she lost. She was hand-in-hand with Ronald, and they were talking. She wondered what he would think of it, of Logica-Land. Of her queendom.

She wondered if he might want to be king...

She shook herself. They had only been together for a few days, since the Yule Ball. It was a bit too soon, she reckoned, to be thinking about the ruling of a kingdom or a queendom. But that would not keep Luna from showing it to him.

"Where are we going?" said Ronald suddenly, breaking the trend of previous conversation to perhaps catch Luna off-guard to get her to tell him their destination. She was not fooled.

"We're almost there," said Luna. And indeed they were. She had reached the throne, and now she was just contemplating how to go about it. "Ronald," she said. "Sit down here." She pointed to the throne.

"Thank Merlin," said Ronald, sitting down. "My feet are killing me. Are we almost there?"

Luna looked at him expectantly. Why wasn't he disappearing? Why wasn't he going to Logica-Land? Why didn't the throne transport him?

"What?" said Ronald.

"What, what?" said Luna.

"You're looking at me funny," said Ronald. "Are you taking the mickey or something? What is this whole thing?"

Luna, disappointed that her plan had not worked, frowned and took Ronald's hand in hers. "Sorry," she said. "I couldn't find what I was looking for."

"Can't imagine how you expected to," said Ronald. "You do realise we're in a wood, yes?"

Luna smiled. "I know. I just wanted to show you something."

They began to walk back towards Luna's house.

"Maybe some other time?" said Ronald.

"Sure," said Luna, and suddenly she tripped on a tree root and fell to the ground. On account of their clasped hands, Ronald was pulled down as well, and pinned her to the ground.

"Oh, uh...sorry 'bout that," said Ronald, moving to stand up again, but something made Luna pull him back down again. "Wha—" She cut him short, kissing him on the mouth. He stared down at her, looking quite dumbstruck. She chuckled at his look.

"Let's go then," she said, but before they stood, Ronald disappeared, along with any and all light and suddenly Luna was facing an empty night sky, devoid of even the moon.

Her world had shifted again, and she had been rolled once again. She was suddenly aware of everything again, her burnt hands, aching body, and the grief in her heart. Ronald was dead. Her father was dead. Her mother was...

...alive.

Her mother was still alive, she realised, and suddenly Luna was back in the cell. Or was she? She could see the cell, she could see Ronald's body laying lifeless on the floor. But she could also see herself. She watched as she would watch a film, she listened as if hearing her father's wireless from the other end of the house.

__

"Avada Ked—_" began Voldemort, cut short by a strangling round his neck. Cynthia was awake again, but weak. Awake enough to attempt once again to get a stranglehold on Voldemort, weak enough to lose her grip within moments._

"WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT?" _shouted Voldemort, and he then turned on Cynthia with the wand. Given another, undisrupted moment, she likely would have been dead, but Voldemort was not given that moment._

Crack!

Hermione and Snape appeared suddenly outside of the cages, and Luna was very pleased to see that they had wands, though she didn't have the faintest idea where they came from, nor did she care.

__

"Where in hell did you two come from?" Voldemort shouted, turning his wand on Snape, who ducked a curse. Hermione was busy cutting through the bars of Luna's cage, and when she had done that, Cynthia's cage. Both Lovegoods were free to escape, but neither moved. They watched as the Dark Lord duelled with Snape. Or, more likely, Snape dodged the Dark Lord's curses.

Suddenly Snape was hit, though not with the Killing Curse, and Voldemort let out a scream of triumph. Hermione took the opportunity to shout some curse Luna had never heard of at Voldemort, who ducked it just in the nick of time.

"Shouldn't you be going?" drawled Snape to Luna, clutching his left arm. He turned round and glared at Cynthia.

"Ri—right," said Luna, though she made no move.

"Incompetent Ravenclaw," muttered Snape, and he drew his wand shakily towards Luna. "We'll be following shortly," he said, and he muttered a spell. Luna disappeared, and he turned towards Cynthia and repeated the same spell. She disappeared just as a curse Voldemort had aimed at Hermione struck Snape in the chest and he appeared to pass out.

"Wonderful," muttered Hermione sarcastically. "I just love _my chances now..."_

"You don't have any chances," said Voldemort, and he drew his wand towards her.

"Avada Kedavra!_" he yelled,_ and Luna saw no more. She was back on grass, though now she felt a hand patting her face.

"Wake up, Luna. Please, please wake up. We have to go!"

"Mum?" Luna said sleepily, and she realised that her throat was hoarse.

"Yes, it's me, baby," said Cynthia. "We've got to get to help. We can't go back home, so I was thinking perhaps your grandmother's house—"

"No," said Luna, and she sounded stronger than she felt.

Cynthia looked at her disbelievingly. "_No?_" She looked as if she thought she'd heard wrong. "Did you just say _no?_ What else are we supposed to do?"

"I have to..." Cynthia helped Luna to stand and the latter felt a bit dizzy. "I have to change it back." She tried to begin to walk, but Cynthia held her back.

"Change it...change what back?" demanded Cynthia. "I don't...I don't understand what you're saying. You need rest, we all need rest. Let's get some rest at Grandma's, eh? Maybe You-Know-Who won't find us there...and you can ride Adeline! The horse, I mean."

"I know what you mean," said Luna, "but no. I have to change it back. This is wrong. Everything's wrong."

Cynthia took a breath. "We'd better start walking, if we're going to get to Mum's house before You-Know-Who finds us..." She started walking with an arm round Luna's shoulders, and the girl walked with her.

"Mum!" said Luna admonishingly. "You're _not_ paying attention!"

"Yes, yes I am," said Cynthia. "Or I'm trying to. But right now...after what just happened...I need to go to sleep....for about thirty or forty years. Remind me what you were saying _then_, all right?"

"Mum, I need to change it back," said Luna once again. She looked her mother in the eyes. "I'm sorry."

And she ran. She didn't realise that she had the strength or the energy to run, but she did so anyway. She didn't even know where she was, but she ran purposefully as if she knew exactly where she was going. Well, she did. She just didn't know how to get there.

"Luna!" called Cynthia in exasperation. Luna reckoned her mother was trying to run as well, but was having trouble keeping up. "Luna, you stop this moment!"

But Luna couldn't have stopped running even if she wanted to. And now she felt she knew where she was; Snape hadn't sent them very far from their house, though she wasn't sure he even knew where they lived. They were in Ottery St. Catchpole, and she was just on the other side of the wood now. With a single look back at her mother, she went in.

"LUNA!" exclaimed Cynthia once again, and Luna tried not to hear her. If she listened, she'd stop. She couldn't possible do what she needed to do if she kept hearing her mother calling her. She was, after all, essentially killing her mother all over again, and it was not an easy thing to do, no matter what the circumstances.

She ran and ran and was immensely glad that she had become lost in these woods times before, or perhaps not 'lost' really. But now she at least knew her basic surroundings, because it was so very dark out that she never would have found her way otherwise.

"LUNA!" she heard again, very distantly. The call repeated, nearer and nearer, and Luna for the first time thought that perhaps her mother knew these woods as well, perhaps she had been lost in them also?

Luna ran now, because she had seen the throne and knew well her way from here. She ran and ran until finally she—

She tripped on the very same tree root she had tripped on before, she was sure of it. Her mother's calls became nearer, louder, and she knew that if her mother caught up with her there was no possible way she could go through with it. Not in a thousand years.

Luna picked herself up as quickly as she could and began to run again. Left, right, between the trees she scurried, and somehow still her mother seemed to be gaining on her with every moment. At last she caught a glimpse of her house and ran faster than she had in her life towards it. Surely her mother was long behind? Luna dared a look over her shoulder and no, she could not see her mother.

She was not looking where she was going, however, and soon found her face flat on the grass as a result of her old, rusted tricycle that had been left in the yard for Merlin-knows-how-long. It seemed that her mother had not been as far behind as expected, as now the cries of "LUNA!" were close enough that they actually sounded like yells. They also seemed to be coming from _in front of Luna,_ which surely must have been a trick of the mind.

Luna ran as quickly as she could round to the front of the house, where the front door had been left unlocked by the Death Eaters that had kidnapped them. Some strange part of her mind wondered why the Death Eaters had used the front door instead of simply Apparating, but she ignored it.

Dashing up the living room stairs, Luna wondered where it would be in this life. It wasn't in the hallway and she doubted very much that it would be in the attic. But where would it—

"This is what you're looking for, isn't it?" said a strangled voice. Luna spun round and saw her mother, sobbing in the doorway to her room, clutching an oval mirror. Luna nodded, wondering how her mother had managed to reach the house first.

"You're going to..." Cynthia sobbed a fresh sob. "To let me die again, aren't you?"

Luna swallowed, and said nothing.

"I remember now," said Cynthia. "A long time ago, this mirror saved my life. _You_ saved my life through it. And now it's going to kill me again?" She looked Luna in the eye. "_You're_ going to kill me again?"

Luna still said nothing.

Cynthia shook her head. "The world was better then?" she inquired in a falsely light tone.

"It was," said Luna, very softly.

Cynthia nodded in a very strange way; as if sentencing herself to a fate long-decided, that she had been fighting against, that she had succumbed to, to which she had failed.

"You said you were sorry," said Cynthia, and Luna nodded. Cynthia smiled grimly. "So am I. But you're not going to kill me...you don't have to live like that again."

She held the mirror aloft.

"I love you Luna," Cynthia said, and she smashed the mirror at her feet.

**_ Author's Note _**

Sorry it was a day late. It was a bit...lengthy. Longest chapter in Yesterday Sequence history, in fact. The next ones won't be as long, I promise you (there is still hope for the epilogue, but I'm not making any promises). Review.

**_ End of Part Two_** **_ Next Chapter  
In the Moonlight_** "Let it be."  
John Lennon  
Paul McCartney**_ Coming Soon _**


	20. In the Moonlight

Believe in Yesterday  
_ Potter47** Part Three  
The Circle's End**_ "Let it be."  
John Lennon  
Paul McCartney**_ Chapter Nineteen  
In the Moonlight_**

Luna's eyes snapped open. She hadn't realised she'd closed them. When had she closed them? And why was she leaning on the windowsill?

Luna, suddenly off balance, fell backwards onto the floor, and she noticed that she was in her own room. But she had just been in her mother's room...hadn't she? Then how had she gotten here? What had happened?

She stood up and looked round herself. She couldn't see a thing, save for the glowing face of her bedside clock. It was twenty past four. _In the morning?_ Luna thought, but of _course_ it was the morning—it was pitch dark outside.

Luna didn't for a single moment even think of going to bed. She picked up the flashlight beside her bed and clicked it on. The beam shone dimly and she pointed it in front of her. She did not want to trip on anything; she was achy enough.

Turning her doorknob, Luna stepped out into the hall. Taking note of the thick orange carpet beneath her feet, Luna walked over to the desk. She had to; it was as if something pulled her towards it.

Sitting down in the chair, Luna shined the light upon the mirror.

It was cracked; right there in the frame. A few pieces had fallen out and were on the table top, in a sort of spiral pattern, she noticed. Luna peered at them closer, and saw bits and pieces of her reflection looking back at her. She just stared at them, she did not know why, and suddenly she was in complete darkness, and jumped in her seat.

"Your torch needs new batteries," said a familiar voice. "Perhaps Ronnie's father has some to spare. He collects them, doesn't he? I've always thought he was a bit nutty—"

"Dad?" said Luna with bated breath. "Is that you?"

She knew it was. _He's alive, _Luna thought, even though she really hadn't had time to actually grieve her father's death. The whole thing had been surreal, and frankly she was just happy to see him—or hear him, as she was doing now.

"'Course it's me," said London, and suddenly a bright light appeared. London was holding his own light, and he shined it up at his own face. "Though I do feel a bit funny. I think I've caught something; I'm achy all over. I was about to make some hot chocolate for myself. What are you doing awake?"

"I, um..." Luna began. "I couldn't sleep."

London nodded. "Do you want some hot chocolate as well?" he asked. "I'd be happy to make some for you."

Luna nodded. "I'd like that," she said, and she pushed back the chair and began to stand.

"Hang on," said London, and he shined his light down at the mirror. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I was just..." began Luna. "Looking at this mirror. It's broken."

"It is?" said London. He shook his head regretfully. "It's a shame. Your mum loved that mirror."

"I know," said Luna. She walked up to her father. "Let's have that hot chocolate."

London's gaze remained on the mirror. The light twitched violently. "Yes...right. Of course. Let's go." He backed up a few steps before finally turning away from the mirror, shaking himself.

He wrapped an arm round Luna's shoulders and they walked down the stairs. Luna kept as close as possible to her father's warmth; it was unnaturally cold for July. (Not to mention that she just wanted to be near him.)

At the foot of the stairs, London's light found something red and Luna remembered in but a moment that Ron was on her couch. He was sitting upright, apparently awake.

"Ronnie, what are you doing awake!" said London suddenly, clicking off his light and flipping a light switch. The room went from complete darkness to complete brightness in a moment, and it hurt very much, so London quickly turned the dimmer switch down very, very low.

"I couldn't sleep," said Ron, once the shock had worn off. "I guess. I'm awake, right?"

Luna and London nodded unsurely. "Unless we're in your dream, of course," said London.

"Right," said Ron, nodding. "Then I reckon I couldn't sleep. Though I don't remember waking up..." He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" offered Luna. "Dad was just about to make some."

"Oh—sure," said Ron. He stood from his place on the couch, or at least tried to. At first he couldn't manage to quite stand, and fell back down into the comfy pillows. After a moment or two, he'd gotten up successfully and all of them three walked into the kitchen, Luna still very close to her father.

"Do you like marshmallows, Ronnie?" London inquired, opening what seemed to be random cabinets. "Luna, you like marshmallows, I know that."

"Yeah," said Ron indifferently. "Marshmallows are fine."

"Marshmallows, my boy," said London, plucking one of the fluffy squat cylinders from the bag and popping it into his mouth, "are more than fine. They are _exquisite._"

Ron didn't comment. He glanced at Luna and seemed to be tapping his foot under the kitchen table in a rather odd way.

"Are you OK?" asked Luna, when she noticed this. "You keep tapping your foot."

"I do? I...I am?" Ron leaned over and peered under the table. "Oh, I am. It's a...a twitch, I suppose."

Luna blinked. "Your foot is twitching?" she asked. "That much?"

"Do you feel all right?" London asked abruptly, turning round from the teapot of water he was boiling to examine Ron quizzically. He leaned against the counter.

"What?" said Ron in an odd sort of voice. His foot bumped into the table leg, which in turn caused the napkin-holder to topple.

"It's just..." London couldn't seem to find the right words. "I feel funny — have since I woke up. Achy, and ... and twitchy, as well. If you care to see," he walked over and put his arm out between Ron and Luna. It twitched violently, as if trying to come alive. "It feels like...you know when your foot falls asleep? Or your hand? Or your eyeball-holder? That tingly feeling? Like that."

Ron stared silently at London's arm, and Luna looked at him as he did so. Then a whistling sound alerted London to the boiling pot of water, and he pulled his arm away.

"Hot chocolate's ready," he said, pouring the water into three yellow mugs he'd already filled with cocoa mix. He plopped two large marshmallows into each and handed one to Ron and one to Luna. "Let's sit in the living room — it's comfier."

Ron walked with a funny sort of walk into the living room first, Luna closely behind him with London bringing up the rear. On his way to the couch, London switched on the wireless and slid the volume nearly all the way down.

"I think now's a good time for some Beatles," he said, sitting down on the sofa. Ron took the armchair.

"You think every time's a good time for some Beatles," said Luna, sitting down closely by her father on the sofa. She breathed in the scent of her hot chocolate. "Don't you just love the smell of hot chocolate in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, I—" London stopped and put a single finger in the air. He pointed upward and said excitedly, "Luna, it's your lullaby!"

And so it was. The wireless seemed to grow a bit louder so that they could hear:

__

"Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither wildly as they slip away, across the universe...pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind, possessing and caressing me...Jai guru de va om..."

"Funny lullaby," Ron said, brow furrowed. "Is that some other language?"

"Yes," London nodded, "it's Sanskrit." He closed his eyes and nodded his head to the melody. "Never had a clue what it meant, but isn't it beautiful?"

They were silent again.

"_Nothing's gonna change my world..._"

For some reason or another, Ron's head snapped up and he looked at Luna. London also looked at her, though they both looked confuzzled as they did so.

"What?" said Luna, blowing the marshmallows around in her mug.

"That was odd," said London.

"Yeah," said Ron. He crossed his leg over his knee and took hold of the twitching foot in his hand, trying to still it. His hand only moved with it.

London took a sip of his hot chocolate, and jumped back suddenly. "Hot!" he said, and it seemed he'd burnt his tongue. It took his mind from the odd feeling, but Ron's thoughts still meandered on it.

"_Sounds of laughter, shades of life are ringing through my open ears, inciting and inviting me...limitless undying love, which shines around me like a million suns, and calls me on and on, across the universe...jai guru deva om..._

"_Nothing's gonna change my world..._"

Both Ron and London looked up at Luna once again; neither knew just why, but Ron scrunched up his face and put his hot chocolate on the coffee table.

"If you wouldn't mind," said Ron oddly, "I think I'd like to speak with Luna outside for a moment."

"Oh, go ahead," said London, still not daring to take another sip of his hot chocolate. Ron and Luna stood, and Luna put down her mug as well, if somewhat reluctantly. They made fore the exit, and London said: "I'll be fine with John, Paul, George, and Ringo."

__

Ron turned back, looking questioningly at London for a second, before (on second thought) he shook his head and continued out to the back porch.

——

It was very dark outside, as was understandable for the middle of the night. What little light there was to see by came from the sliding glass door into the house, and a very distant sort of glow through the trees, coming from the house of the wizard who had flown the country without shutting off his lights.

Sitting down at the table on the porch, Ron put his head in his hands.

"What _happened,_ Luna?" he said. "Last night, I was...fine, I thought. That whole thing with the mirror was a bit odd, but when I went to bed I wasn't _twitching _like mad, and I didn't feel like...like..."

"You mean you don't remember?" Luna said suddenly, her eyes widening.

"Don't remember _what?_" said Ron, involuntarily kicking the chair that Luna had just pulled out to sit in. She blinked.

"Oh, Merlin, you don't remember a _thing?_" she said, putting her chin in one hand and gazing at Ron. "How did that happen?"

"I don't remember _what?_" said Ron again. "What happened that I don't remember, that would make me feel like..." He paused, trying to think of some way he could possibly explain it. He looked up from his arms. "Like I'm dead and alive at this same time?" He shook his head violently. "No, more like ... like I _was_ dead, but I'm not anymore...but that makes no sense...and how would I know what that felt like?" He put his head back down. Luna felt Ron's foot twitch into her leg.

Luna looked upon the desperate Ron, unsure of what to do. She drummed her fingers against her cheek, thinking. "Ronald," she said, "if I told you that by talking to Mum through that mirror, I unknowingly created an alternate reality in which she was alive, you and I had never stopped being best friends, and Harry and Ginny were both dead, what would you say?"

"I don't know," said Ron. "Why would you say that—"

"Well, would you believe me?"

Ron, his head still in his hands, opened his eyes and fixed them on Luna. "Possibly."

"Well," said Luna, "by talking to Mum through that mirror, I unknowingly created an alternate reality in which she was alive, you and I had never stopped being best friends, and Harry and Ginny were both dead."

"You're kidding," said Ron. "Very funny joke, but I don't think this is the time."

Luna's face was grave. "I'm not kidding," she said, but Ron didn't hear her.

Ron was laughing now, laughing hysterically. "You are joking! Heh...very good joke, Luna." And he kept laughing and he couldn't seem to stop laughing. Luna noticed that there was no humour on his face at all and that he seemed to be trying to stop, but he couldn't. "You have to be joking, because that could _never_..."

Luna just continued to look at him, and soon his laughter had died down.

"You're not joking," he said simply, looking down at the table. He knew it already; he wasn't asking.

"You died, Ronald," said Luna. "That's why you feel like that. You _did_ die."

"I was dead," began Ron, as if speaking to himself, "and now I'm not. I never thought I'd be able to say that. I never even _thought_ about thinking I would be able to say that..."

They sat in silence for a long time. Luna looked at Ron's face as he stared at the table, and saw a very little boy. He was so...helpless-looking. He just sat there, and for a moment Luna didn't know if he was even breathing. Luna felt a familiar flutter that she'd been too busy as of late to notice.

"I think I remember," said Ron suddenly, breaking the silence. "I just...it's this picture in my head, and I probably made it up a minute ago, but I think I remember... It was this..." He gesticulated vaguely, trying to come up with words. "It was this rose," he said finally. "This red rose, and that's all."

Luna smiled at him, though she did doubt very much whether he was looking at her, or just past her, or even through her. "Good for you, Ronald," she said. "You do remember."

And Ron smiled — just the tiniest bit.

"That's all I remember," he said.

"That's a shame," said Luna. "There were some good things to remember."

Silence.

"Why did it change back?" Ron asked. "Did you change it back? Why?"

"You were dead," said Luna. "I had to change it back."

Silence.

They looked at each other for a long, long while. Ron had his head on his forearms, Luna with her chin on her palm. The just watched each other, neither speaking. Neither feeling that they had to.

And then Ron did speak. He spoke words he had meant to speak for a while: "Luna," he said. "Do you remember the end of last term?"

"Of course I remember the end of last term," said Luna.

"I haven't been able to forget it."

Luna blinked. "It _was_ only a couple weeks ago; why would you forget it? And why would you _want_ to forget it?"

"I don't _want_ to forget it," said Ron. "I mean I haven't been able to get it out of my head."

Silence.

"Everyday," said Ron, "since we came home for the holidays — every night, I should say — I've...dreamt about you."

He was red, Luna noticed. As red as she had ever seen him. She couldn't figure why. Why would anybody be ashamed of their dreams?

"Ronald," said Luna. "In case you haven't realised it, I've dreamt about you every night since I was three."

Now Ron blinked. "Of me?" he said, confuzzled. "Why on earth would you dream about _me?_" He looked at her as if she was absolutely bonkers.

Luna was affronted. "Why _wouldn't_ someone dream about you?"

"Because I'm _me,_" said Ron.

"Exactly," said Luna. "That's why I don't understand it."

Silence, once again. Luna scooted her chair round the table, scraping it on the floor as she did so, to move it next to Ron's.

"So we've been dreaming about each other for varying amounts of time," summarised Luna. Ron was still as red as the moon in a lunar eclipse, and Luna put her hand on his arm.

"Right," said Ron.

"So what are we going to do about it?"

Ron shrugged. "Who knows?"

"I know," said Luna, and she leaned over the arms of their chairs and kissed Ron right on the lips. He didn't expect it, of course, as he hadn't known to expect anything Luna had ever done in their whole lives, and he was quite startled. She didn't seem to notice that he jumped a foot in the air, or at least she moved with him. He kissed her back, after a long time, and Luna smiled against his lips.

Luna chuckled then, pulling back, and Ron looked down at her, aghast. "It wasn't _that _bad, was it...?" he asked worriedly.

"Oh, no—" said Luna, shaking her head and smiling. "It's just that...that was my first..." She paused, recalling for a moment the many times in the other life that she and Ron had kissed. "My first _real_ kiss," she finished. "And it was in the moonlight. Just as I'd always dreamed..."

Ron furrowed his brow. "But..." He looked heavenward. "Luna, there is no moon tonight—there's no moonlight."

"There is for us," corrected Luna, and she kissed him again.

——

After a long while, Ron and Luna went back inside. _Reluctantly_, thought Luna, smiling down at their clasped hands. The two walked into the living room and there was London, sobbing quietly on the couch.

Luna looked worriedly at Ron, eyes wide. He shrugged, not knowing what was wrong with her father. Then London started singing, singing along with the soft song on the wireless.

__

"Yesterday...all my troubles seemed so far away...now it looks as though they're here to stay...oh I believe...in yesterday....

"Suddenly...I'm not half the man I used to be...there's a shadow hanging over me...oh yesterday...came suddenly...."

London couldn't seem to find his voice for a few moments. Then he continued, choking on his sobs. He shook the mug in his hands violently and it sloshed about him. He didn't seem to notice.

"_Yesterday...love was such an easy game to play...now I need a place to hide away...oh I believe...in yesterday..._"

"Why...she...had to go..." London stopped then. He couldn't continue. His mug was empty, the comfort of the hot chocolate spilt all over the fluffy living room floor. He dropped the mug itself then, and the ceramic landed with a _thud_. It would likely have broken, if not for the rug. London put his head in his hands, and cried, simply cried. He was helpless, a child separated from all he knew, lost in a big sidewalk full of faceless grown-ups.

Luna dashed over to him as quick as she could, not caring one bit that the bottoms her fuzzy-Snorkack slippers would be covered in chocolate. She hugged her father and he clung to her, clung so that she could not slip away from him even if she wanted to. Ron, very awkwardly, put an arm around both of them (for it reached) and Ron and Luna realised that they too had tears in their eyes, and the three sat on the couch until they were all cried out, which was not for a very long, long time.

**_ Next Chapter_**"Are you falling, are you faking,  
Are you healing, are you breaking,  
Am I burning, am I only melting,  
these diamonds in the making?"  
Jason Wade**_ Coming Soon_**


	21. Falling Through

Believe in Yesterday  
_ Potter47** Part Three  
The Circle's End**_ "Are you falling, are you faking,  
Are you healing, are you breaking,  
Am I burning, am I only melting,  
these diamonds in the making?"  
Jason Wade**_ Chapter Twenty  
Falling Through_**

Harry opened his eyes. He had been dreaming. _Dreaming_. Just dreaming. Dreaming ordinary dreams that he'd likely forget by morning. He smiled. It had been nice.

Why had he had to wake up? He took the pillow that had somehow made its way to his feet and hugged it, closing his eyes again and hoping to fall right back into his dream. Perhaps he wouldn't even remember that he had awoken...that was always fun.

Harry felt suddenly cold. He shivered — but it had been warm only a moment ago. He opened his eyes once again, reluctantly, and his thoughts turned immediately to Dementors. Not the thought he wanted to think of, in place of the sweet dreams he had

wished to return to.

Willing himself to sit up, Harry reached for his wand on the bedside table. He felt instead his glasses, and thought that it wouldn't be the worst idea he'd ever had to put them on, too. He did so, and then reached further to clasp his wand.

"_Lumos!_" he muttered, quite frankly annoyed at the supposed Dementor — if indeed that was what had caused the sudden cold — for making him wake up; really wake up, not just stop being asleep. He didn't even remember that he wasn't supposed to do magic.

He saw nothing in Percy's old bedroom, save his trunk laid open on the floor before the bed. The mirror — Sirius's mirror — shone inside it, and Harry felt the sudden urge to walk over to it.

"_Harry_..." a voice said suddenly, harshly. "_Harry, please wake up._"

Placing his feet on the hardwood floor, Harry walked slowly and as quietly as possible towards the mirror. He held it in one hand and his wand in the other.

"Sirius," whispered Harry, a bit surprised to see his godfather's face reflected in the glass. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing—Harry, nothing's really _wrong,_ but...are you all right?"

"I'm fine," said Harry. "Was it you that woke me up?"

"Probably," said Sirius, blinking his eyes several times. "You wouldn't mind lowering that, would you?" He pointed to Harry's wand.

"Oh," said Harry, and he did as Sirius asked. "Why did you call?"

"You see, Harry, something happened—"

"You said nothing was wrong!"

"I didn't say anything was wrong; just that something had happened!" .

"Will you stop _yelling?_" Harry heard a familiar voice hiss, from behind his godfather. "Do you _want_ to wake your bloody mother?"

Suddenly Sirius was gone, as if the mirror had been yanked out of his hands. Snape's face appeared before Harry.

"Potter, something has happened, and not even Dumbledore knows what. Your life may be in danger. Just don't do anything stu—"

"That's my mirror!" Harry heard Sirius say, and the view from the glass jerked about, and Harry felt that Sirius was trying to tug it back out of Snape's greasy hand. He couldn't help but grin as Sirius's face was restored to the frame.

"Sorry 'bout that, Harry," said Sirius. "Snivellus here's a bit desperate for attention if you ask me..."

"These are serious matters!" Harry heard distantly.

"That's why I'm _dealing with them!_" Sirius whisper-yelled at Snape, out of Harry's view. He turned back to Harry, and started moving; Harry sensed he was walking with the mirror in his hand. "Just be careful. Dumbledore will tell you more as soon as we can, I'm sure of it.." He grinned mischievously. "If Dumbledore doesn't, I certainly will."

Harry sat back on his bed, mirror still in hand.

"Sirius," he said, "what's been happening?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you—we don't know exactly. But Snivellus is right about one thing—your life may be in danger. And like he was saying, don't do anything stupid, like run off and eat rats for a month; it's horrible for the digestion, believe me."

Harry smiled. "I won't."

"But seriously, don't go into the house without permission—wait. Don't _leave_ the house without permission. Tired, sorry." He yawned, as if to prove the point.

"You look as if you haven't slept for a week," said Harry.

"With good reason," said Sirius, and Harry wasn't quite sure what he meant by that. "Though sometimes I can nap during the day. Just can never seem to sleep at night."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, Harry, I promise. If you'll excuse me, I have to beat Snivellus over the head with something pointy, and maybe even nap for a bit. Good night." He grinned at Harry, and his picture disappeared. Harry let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding.

"What was that about?" he wondered aloud, and he restored the mirror to its place in his trunk. He lay back down on the bed and fell into an uneasy sleep.

——

Ginny opened her eyes. She had been dreaming. _Dreaming_. Just dreaming. Dreaming of Harry. She smiled. It had been nice.

Why had she had to wake up? She took the pillow that had somehow made its way to her feet and hugged it, closing her eyes again and hoping to fall right back into her dream. Perhaps she wouldn't even remember that she had awoken...that was always fun.

Ginny felt suddenly cold. She shivered — but it had been warm only a moment ago. She opened her eyes once again, reluctantly, and her thoughts turned immediately to Dementors. Not the thought she wanted to think of, in place of the sweet dreams he had

wished to return to.

Willing herself to sit up, Ginny reached for her wand on the bedside table.

"_Lumos!_" she muttered, and her eyes widened in horror. She had been right; it was a Dementor, and it was just above her. Right there, its horrible mouth seemingly glowing in the darkness. Futilely, Ginny tried to do something, to move, to cast a spell, but she could not move.

The Dementor lowered its hood, and it leaned over towards her mouth and it began to suck, and—

Suddenly it was Harry, kissing her, and they were atop the Astronomy Tower and the rainbow was there, in the sky above them, glittering with colour, and Ginny leaned into Harry, clutching at him, hoping he would stay with her forever.

And then he pulled back, and it was Tom, and he smiled and smiled and laughed and laughed and she fell back in horror. She landed on her pillow and her eyes snapped open.

Breathing heavily, Ginny stared at the ceiling above her. _Nightmare_, she thought. _Only a nightmare._

"_But nightmares are reality_," hissed a voice by Ginny's ear. "_Whether you think they are or not._"

Ginny rolled to her side, falling off of the bed and catching a glimpse of Tom, now smirking on her pillow, as she fell.

When one is falling, it is the ultimate feeling of helplessness. You cannot do a thing to prevent the inevitable crash.

Ginny was in the air, in the sky, and she was soon no longer sure whether she was falling down or the sky was falling up. Her eyes tried to close, but they could not. They stung painfully from the wind, and Ginny felt them watering. When was she going to land? She could not see anything but clouds...

But then she was on fire, it seemed. She was melting...melting, but at the same time she felt drenched with water. Or was it sweat? No, it was cool, like water; she was swimming, and melting, and dying and breathing, all at once.

And then she was floating, no, flying. She was on her broom, flying high above the grounds of Hogwarts, and it had just rained, because there was the rainbow above the school, and she flew without knowing where she was going. She was above the Astronomy Tower now, and Harry was there, but it wasn't her he was kissing, it was Cho Chang. Ginny charged her broom down at them, and without realising it she had hit them and they went flying without brooms, right off the edge of the tower.

Panicked, Ginny swooped around. She couldn't care less about Cho, but Harry was falling as well, and she sped as quick as she could to try to catch up. She was level with him, and his eyes were open, and he spoke to her, and the whole world was gone except for his voice. It chilled her to the bone, and it seemed they were no longer moving.

"You can't save me, Ginny," he said. "You could never save me. I'm gone. And you can't do anything."

"No!" said Ginny, trying with all her might to catch hold of him. She couldn't. "I can save you!"

He shook his head. "You could never save me. I'm dying, and it's all your fault."

"No!" said Ginny again, reaching as far as she could reach, but she could not grab hold of Harry. He closed his mouth and his eyes and suddenly they were falling again and he hit the ground, and he was gone.

"NO!" screamed Ginny, and she fell once again, over the edge of her bed, and awoke with a loud _thud._ Her eyes opened once again — but now they really were open. She was awake, really now, and she took a deep breath before getting to her feet.

"Only a nightmare," said Ginny aloud, and though no voice answered her this time, but Ginny knew that she was wrong. It hadn't been _only_ a nightmare. It had been much more than that.

Ginny felt her face was wet, and wiped her tears. She hated crying in her sleep. She had no way of preventing it and she always felt even more tired afterward. But she couldn't go back to sleep. She _couldn't._

And she couldn't save him...

Ginny stopped attempting to wipe her tears; it was futile anyway. She thought of her dream, and he cried.

She let the tears fall.

——

Harry awoke suddenly. He'd been having the strangest dream...he'd been falling, and he watched himself fall at the same time. It was the oddest sensation, like being a different person, yet himself, all at once.

He had been talking in the dream, but he couldn't hear what he'd been saying. It had been like someone had turned the sound off of a television...he just watched.

And now he was awake, again. He could never fall asleep again now. He stood, and reached for his glasses. Oh; they were still on his face from when he'd woken before. Now that he thought about it, they were at a rather uncomfortable angle, and he adjusted them. Putting his wand in his pocket — just in case — Harry walked as silently as possible towards the door of Percy's room.

Once out on the landing, he tip-toed down the stairs and walked into the living room.

__

Why? he thought, and he could not answer himself, could not explain why he was walking into the room...

But he was glad he had. There, curled up on the couch like a cat, watching the logs in the fireplace burn dimly, was Ginny. She was not looking at him, but somehow knew to say "Hey," just as he entered the room.

"Hey," said Harry, sitting down next to her on the couch.

"Why are you awake?" said Ginny.

"Couldn't sleep. You?"

"Nightmares."

They were silent. Ginny had her arms wrapped round her legs and she shivered.

"Are you cold?" Harry asked.

"Aren't you?" said Ginny. "It's freezing tonight."

"Yeah," said Harry, blowing into his fist to warm it up. "It is a bit chilly."

"Doesn't feel like July, that's for sure," said Ginny surely. She hadn't looked at him; she was still gazing at the small fire. Harry put a hand on her shoulder, and she leaned into his touch.

"Something feels wrong," said Ginny, and she finally looked at Harry. She had a very concerned look on her face, and Harry could see she'd been crying.

"How do you mean?" he asked. He wiped a tear from her cheek, and then they both looked back towards the fire.

"I mean...something's just...off. Don't you feel it?"

"Sort of," said Harry. "I feel a bit twitchy."

Ginny leaned her back against his side, and he put his other hand on her hair, stroking it. It felt very...soft.

"I talked to Sirius," said Harry abruptly, and Ginny twisted her head around, making his hand fall from it.

"What did he say?"

"He said that..." Harry shook his head. "I'm not exactly sure what he said. But he said that something had happened."

"Something bad?" Ginny's voice had taken on a worried tone and she turned round fully so that her whole body was facing Harry. "What did he say?"

"He said nothing was wrong, just that something had happened...Snape said I was in danger."

"Snape?" questioned Ginny, tilting her head.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Greasy hair, hooked nose, bad teeth..."

Ginny slapped him on the arm. "I _know_ who Snape is," she said. "But I thought you were talking to Sirius."

"Snape was with him. They were at Grimmauld Place, and..." Harry shook his head again. "They didn't really tell me anything. They said they didn't know anything. But...they knew more than they said, I think. Don't they always?"

"We have to be careful, then," said Ginny. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Like eat rats for a month?"

Ginny furrowed her brow. "What?"

"That's what Sirius said. Rather odd, now I think about it. But he hasn't gotten any sleep for a long time, so he probably just said whatever came to mind or something."

"Right," said Ginny.

They were silent. Ginny turned back round to face the flames, and Harry rubbed her shoulders, either to keep her warm or just to rub her shoulders.

"What do you think happened?" said Ginny after a while.

"I dunno...I was thinking, well...we haven't seen Ron all day, and..."

"Oh, he's fine," said Ginny assuredly.

Harry leaned forwards to look her in the face. "How would you know? Where is he?"

Ginny smirked. "I am not authorised to disclose that information."

Harry leaned in and kissed her, and looked into her eyes.

"But you'll tell me anyway, won't you?" he asked.

Ginny shook her head. "Nope. And no amount of snogging will change my mind."

"Hmph," said Harry, leaning back to where he had been before. They were silent for a while longer, and soon both had sobered. "So what do you think happened?" he asked.

"Maybe...maybe Sirius got your OWL results by mistake, and you failed and Snape said your life was in danger because he was going to kill you."

"Oh, right, I failed my OWLs..." said Harry. "That's sure to be it." Of course, neither believed this was true.

They sat there for a long time still, and soon it was not so dark anymore, and light shone in through the windows.

"Here comes the sun," said Ginny, and she put her feet down on the floor. They ached from being in such a position for so long. "Mum's sure to be up soon—"

"What are you two doing up this early?" said Mrs Weasley's voice, standing in the living room doorway. "It's not even six o'clock."

"Couldn't sleep," said Harry.

"Me neither," said Ginny.

"You're lucky your brothers didn't find you first," said Mrs Weasley, smirking and taking a sip of the tea or coffee or whatever was in the mug in her hand. "You two looked _pretty_ cosy..."

Harry and Ginny both turned red, and Mrs Weasley smirked again.

"Come on," she said, gesturing for the two to stand. "I'll make you some eggs."

**_ Author's Note_**

Well, that's nearly the end. Only one to go—the epilogue, and then we're off to the third part of the Sequence, _Yesterday's Tomorrow_. Lucky for you readers, I have already completed the epilogue (which is why this one's up already) and it will, as this one was, be posted in only three days. Therefore, mark your calendars for 7 December (which also happens to be the one year anniversary of the start of writing _Living inside Yesterday_).

__

Yesterday's Tomorrow will, I assure you, be posted under the Harry/Ginny category on , and hopefully actually get some reviews on Sink into Your Eyes. However, I do not plan on posting at HarryPotterFanFiction any longer, simply because it is too much work to post on three websites _and_ a Yahoo! Group every time, and the number of times I have forgotten to post on HPFF, I can hardly count—it's always been last in my rounds. However, if you are so very loyal to HPFF, and you feel like waiting a very long time, I may well post the whole fic, once it is done, on that site. I just can't do the whole chapter by chapter thing anymore.

So, the epilogue's coming soon for BiY, and then we're finished here—it's taken me a whole lot longer than it did for LiY, which took from 7 Dec to 30 March, but oh well. I got stuck many a time, writing these twenty chapters, and I hope that the result was a more quality story than it may have been otherwise. I do believe that YsT will not take nearly as long, and I hope to complete it by the end of March (though I'm not saying I will).

Also, to readers, expect another, non-Yesterday novel length by me, coming soon. I don't believe it will interfere with my Yesterday writing, however, and it should appear soon after the epilogue goes live. It is to be called _Auguries of Innocence_, and of course that's the most original title in the world.

And Sink into Your Eyes readers — I know there are some of you — look out for my Boxing Day challenge entry, coming soon.

Yes, I do realise I have an awful lot on my literary plate these days, but alas! A new HBPP (for those of you that read _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince —_ my fic, of course) should also be coming soon — expect it round the fifteenth.

On top of it all, my website Polyjuice Parodies (www.polyjuiceparodies.tk) should also experience an update one of these months. I haven't posted on there since August, but I assure the next update shall be a major one.

And now I shall end this author's note before it becomes more lengthy than the chapter itself. However, if any of you are dreadfully confuzzled still, you may converse with other fans at the Yesterday Sequence Yahoo! Group, called YesterdaySequence, at groups.yahoo. com/group/yesterdaysequence. There is a desperate need of discussion there, I assure you.

I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. (Doesn't everybody say that in author's notes? I mean...everyone? It sure seems that way.) Review. And stick around for the epilogue, of course. And review that too. Three days and counting.

**_ Next Chapter  
Epilogue_** "Reflection, you may come tomorrow,  
Sit by the fireside with Sorrow.—  
You with the unpaid bill, Despair —  
You, tiresome verse-reciter Care—  
I will pay you in the grave."  
Percy Bysshe Shelley**_ Coming Soon_**


	22. Epilogue

Believe in Yesterday  


_ Potter47_**_ Epilogue  
Reflections of Tomorrow_** "Reflection, you may come tomorrow,  
Sit by the fireside with Sorrow.—  
You with the unpaid bill, Despair —  
You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care —  
I will pay you in the grave."  
Percy Bysshe Shelley 

Professor Snape stood in the basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He held a mug of firewhiskey in his hand — a despicable one at that, and he looked at the slumped over form of Black at the head of the table. The man had sat down for but a moment before he had collapsed in sleep, and now Snape wondered what had gotten him so tired.

Surely it didn't have to do with...?

__

No, thought Snape. _That doesn't make sense._ _It must be some side effect of..._

Snape shook his head, taking a swig of the liquid. It burned down his throat — yet felt good as it did so. He'd never understood why.

"Black," he said roughly, intending the wake him. "Black!"

"Wha—" Black raised his head an inch or two, peering out from his arms. "Sleepy."

"Pull yourself together," said Snape. "You know you're not supposed to be asleep yet." He smirked. "Dumbledore's orders." He took another swig.

"I don't give a damn about Dumbledore's orders right now, Snivellus," said Black, and he rearranged himself in the chair, on the table, trying to get comfortable. He began to snore loudly.

"Fine," said Snape. "But you know I'm not about to defend you to Dumbledore." He smiled. "Now it'll probably be even longer before you get out of this place."

"I don't care," said Black, muffled through his arms. "Leave me alone. Go back to your dungeon, or something."

Snape took yet another swig. He was disappointed—he didn't feel the least bit tired, himself. Everything seemed _off_—now Black wasn't even willing to fight with him. What was the world coming to?

"Fine," said Snape. "I'll just go make conversation with your dear mother..."

Black's eyes snapped open. "You wouldn't dare! I'd never get to sleep, then!"

Snape smirked. "Exactly."

Black groaned. "God, Snape, why are you still here? Don't you have some children to torture or something?"

"I don't torture children," said Snape. "It's a common misconception." He paused.

Black snorted sleepily. "Yeah, right. I'd probably say something really..." he yawned "...witty, 'bout that, Snivellus, but I'm just too damn tired."

Snape looked at him, narrowing his eyes.

"When are you going to tell him, Black?"

Black groaned again. "Tell _who?_ Tell him _what?_"

"You know who," said Snape.

"Why on earth would I tell him anything?" said Black. He still had not looked up from his arm/pillow, and it did not seem that he wanted to.

Snape rolled his eyes. "You know who I mean, Black. Your damn godson. He has to know. He's _going_ to find out, even if you don't tell him."

Black finally lifted his head, frustrated. He stood, walked over, and put his finger in Snape's face. "He _never_ has to find out. I don't want that on his mind."

"Don't stick your finger in my face," said Snape batting away Black's hand. He took another swig.

"I'll stick my finger wherever I want to stick my finger," said Black. "And let me tell you this, Snivellus. There are two secrets that I am never going to tell a soul." He put up two fingers. "Ever. Two things I'm going to take to my grave with me. The first is that Harry and Ginny are going out—"

"There goes that one," Snape cut in, smirking.

Black winced, cursing. "And the second one," he continued, his hand right in Snape's face once again, "is—"

"Sirius," said a familiar voice in a disapproving tone. "Severus. What have I told you two about fighting?"

Black closed his eyes, as if in pain. He lowered his hand and spun round, nodding. "Albus," he said.

"Professor Dumbledore," said Snape, "what brings you here at this hour of the morning?"

"There is someone that wishes to meet you, Severus," said Dumbledore. "It is a very important interview, if you understand."

Snape nodded. "Whom will I be speaking to?"

"A Professor Ripley Morgen," said Dumbledore. "He will be taking the place of Professor Umbridge as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, come new term at Hogwarts. Minerva has just appointed him."

Snape's lip curled. "I take it my application has been denied once again, sir?"

"I'm afraid so, Severus," said Dumbledore regretfully. "But look on the bright side; at least it wasn't me this year." He chuckled. Snape did not.

Black grinned wickedly. "You're never gonna get that job, Sniv—Severus," he said, at a look from Dumbledore. "Might as well stop trying."

Snape said nothing.

"You will be meeting him at this location," said Dumbledore, handing a piece of parchment to Snape, who took a look at it, and then tucked it away within his robes.

"Yes, sir," said Snape. He walked towards the stairs, leaving Dumbledore and Black alone. He heard Dumbledore speak as he went:

"Sirius, there is something I do need to speak with you about as well..."

——

"It's getting light out," said Ron as light began to shine through the sliding glass doors of the Lovegood's living room.

"Yes, I see it is," sniffled London.

"_Sun, sun, sun, here it comes,_" said the wireless.

Luna's father stood up then, and smiled down at the two teenagers. "How about some Pop Tarts for breakfast, eh?"

"Sure," said Ron, and London went off towards the kitchen. He switched off the wireless as he went.

"So," said Luna. "Are we...together now?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Ron. "I reckon so."

They sat in silence for a while, Ron alternately glancing at Luna, glancing away, and Luna simply staring at Ron.

"So now what?" said Ron. "I mean…what do we do now?"

"We eat Pop Tarts, of course!" said London, and he seemed more cheerful now. More like his old self…but…still not quite there.

"Are you all right, Mr Lovegood?" Ron asked, taking a breakfast pastry from the tray in London's hands. Luna took one as well.

"I'm fine," said London. "It's just…that song is so…it's always makes me lose it, just never...like that." He looked longingly towards the wireless, and said: "It's my favourite, I think. But at the same time…it's so sad, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Luna. "Perhaps a bit too sad, for…this time of year."

Ron furrowed his brow. "What…this time of year? What does the time of year have to do with anything?"

"Six years," said London, wistfully gazing at the photographs across the room, on the mantel, and Ron remembered, and knew what they were speaking of. "It's been six years since…well, you know. But no—I'm fine. Yes…fine."

Silence, but for the sound of Luna nibbling the edges of her Pop Tart, never going all the way to the icing or the filling, just the outside part. Ron's was still too hot.

London sighed, sitting down between the two teenagers again. He put the tray on the coffee table, and rested his cheek on his palm.

"I do miss her…oh, yes, I miss her…" London's eyes were closed, and he seemed to be remembering times long past.

Luna felt a strong urge to tell her father everything…about the mirror, and the other life, and about her mother, the things he didn't remember. But she didn't. She wanted to tell him that it would be all right, that everything had been worse with her mother alive, that it had been Cynthia herself that had put everything right.

But she didn't. She couldn't. Not now. Not yet.

And so they sat, eating their Pop Tarts in relative silence.

——

"Mrs Weasley," said Harry, sitting down at the kitchen table of the Burrow, "where's Ron?"

"Ron?" said Mrs Weasley, cracking an egg into a frying-pan, and Harry almost thought she was to say _Ron who?_, but she didn't. "Oh, he's…bound to be home soon."

Ginny smirked at Harry, who pouted slightly. He shook his head, uncomprehending.

"Why is it that no one seems worried about Ron, when he's been gone more than a day? Voldemort could have him, for all we know!"

Mrs Weasley winced, and she looked up at the clock. "No, he's fine. And it's not more than a day yet. It'll be a day at six o'clock."

Harry looked at the clock warily, not sure if it was to be believed. How, after all, did _it_ know that Ron was "Eating"? And where was he eating?

"But shouldn't it say he's asleep, not eating?" said Harry. "Ron never gets up this early."

"He must be awake, then," said Ginny, obviously.

Mrs Weasley served their eggs, and Harry stabbed his yolk -- perhaps a bit too roughly -- with his fork. It splattered all about his plate.

"Honestly, Harry," said Ginny. "Why don't you just take our words for it?"

"Why don't you just tell me where my best mate is?"

"Eat up," said Mrs Weasley, pointing to Harry's eggs. "Now that you've properly punctured it, it'll be a bit messy, but if that's how you like it…"

——

"So, Luna," said London after a while. "What'd you dream about tonight?"

Luna thought for a moment. "Mum," she answered, which obviously wasn't a lie.

"Again?" said London sadly. "Yes, I dreamt of her too."

"What else did you dream about?" Luna asked him, and Ron wondered how they had gotten into a conversation about dreams.

"I dreamt about…" began London, squinting, as if trying to remember. "Well, I dreamt about your mother, as always. And I dreamt something else, something strange…"

"What?" asked Ron.

"It was this…cage," said London. "It was this big cage, and Cynthia—Luna's mother, of course—" he clarified towards Ron, "was there, and this man was there as well. And he was torturing us. Me, especially. I don't…" He shook his head. "I didn't like that dream. Don't you hate nightmares?"

"Very much so," said Luna. "Especially double-dreams." She shivered, and then looked at Ron. "What did you dream about, Ronald?"

Ron blinked, unsure. Why had she asked him? She had said¾said before, that she and her father discussed their dreams all the time, but him? He never talked about his dreams. He didn't know what to say.

"I didn't dream tonight," said Ron finally, and London looked disappointed, as did Luna.

"Not one?" London asked.

"No," said Ron. "But…I have been having this other dream, or I _had,_ at least."

"Tell us about it!"

Ron opened his mouth to speak, to tell of the dream he had been thinking of, but he found that he couldn't. What dream was it again? He couldn't…remember. And it had been right there, only a moment ago…what was it?

"I can't," said Ron, eyes widening slightly. "Sorry, I just…lost it."

"Don't you hate it when that happens?" said London, and Luna nodded. "I hate it when that happens."

"I'd better be going, soon," said Ron, but he made no move to move. He had finished his Pop Tart and for some reason began watching Luna eat hers. There was something funny about the way Luna ate, but he couldn't place it.

"Oh, not this early, for sure!" said London. He was even more himself now he had gotten some food in his belly. "You simply must wait a bit longer. It's hardly half five."

"But I've been gone since six yesterday," said Ron. "They're bound to be worried…"

"Go ahead, Ronald," said Luna. "Don't mind Daddy. You have been gone an awful long time, and your mum's sure to be having a fit. Let me walk you to the door."

Ron blinked. "I...I know where the door is¾"

"Let me walk you to the door, Ronald," said Luna again, and so she stood and took Ron by the elbow and dragged him out to the front hall, by the door. As soon as they were out of her father's sight (or perhaps a bit before?) she pulled him down to her, kissing him on the lips once again.

"Take this," she said, and she somehow had gotten the her lion hat, and was holding it out to him. "To remember me by."

Ron blinked. "Luna, it's not like I'm going anywhere…just up to the Burrow. I'll see you soon."

"So?" she said. "That doesn't mean you can't take something to remember me by."

"All right then," said Ron awkwardly, and he took the lion hat. He leaned down again and kissed Luna briefly, though he really didn't think it was the proper way to kiss someone. And it didn't really feel real. Not the kiss, no, the...the past…how long had it really been? A day? Two? It didn't feel as if it had happened.

Ron reached for the doorknob, but Luna held him back.

"You're going to _wear it_, aren't you?" she said, and took the hat from his hand and reached up to put it on his head. It roared.

"I am?" Ron asked.

"Of course you are," said Luna, and she squeezed the lion's nose for good luck. He roared, and with that Ron took a step out the door. She watched him all the way down the garden path, and then leaned out the door to watch as he walked down the street. Several times, he looked back over his shoulder, and she smiled each time he did. Finally he was too far off, and all she could see was a bit of bright red beneath the hat, but she watched still until that was gone as well.

Letting out a breath, Luna leaned back into her home, closing her front door, and her eyes as well. She breathed in, and he was still in the air. But not really him, of course, just his spirit. For in reality — that dreadful place Luna tried so desperately to avoid — he had gone.

——

"...you be _quiet,_ George? You'll wake the ghoul!"

"I'm not going to wake anyone, no, that's your job, with all your yelling at me."

"I'm not yelling!" A pause. Softer: "I'm_ not _yelling. And it's not just this damn ghoul I'm worried about..."

"Yes, I _know that,_ Fred. Since when are you in—"

The twins came bustling into the kitchen to find all eyes — those of Harry, Ginny, and their mother — focused on them. Between the two of them was a large cage, and within it was something Harry had only ever heard about before — the Weasley's ghoul.

Mrs Weasley faced her sons, hands on her hips.

"—trouble?" she finished her son's sentence. "Oh, I'd say just about now." She smiled thinly. "And this time I even know which is which..."

"Oh, damn it all," muttered Fred, and yes, they knew it was Fred, for once.

"Language, Fred," said Mrs Weasley. "And just what in...what on earth are you doing with the ghoul?"

The ghoul was, in a word, ugly. In two, very ugly. Harry didn't know if he'd ever seen an uglier creature, though surely one of Hagrid's projects must have been just as bad; Harry couldn't remember at the moment. It was asleep, of course, and very slimy, buck-toothed, and resembled a small ogre. Harry, who had never seen a live ogre either, reckoned that they were probably just as ugly in real life.

"Oh, just taking it for a walk," said George. "The attic is really very cramped, you know—someone should clean it."

"Oh, don't worry," said Mrs Weasley. "Someone will—in fact, I don't think the two of you are very busy, the rest of the summer? You're just the boys for the job."

The twins winced, having hoped very much to not be caught this time.

"Now sit down and let me make you some eggs," said Mrs Weasley. The twins set the ghoul on the kitchen floor, and grudgingly sat opposite Harry and Ginny.

"What were you really planning on doing with that thing?" Harry asked of George quietly.

"That is need-to-know information," said Fred. "And you don't."

Harry let the matter drop — he wasn't very interested in the thing anyway.

"You're not planning on leaving that there, are you?" said Ginny, indicating the ghoul on the kitchen floor.

"Of _course_ not," said George.

"Then you're going to bring him back to the attic?"

"Of _course _not," said George.

"Not after all the work we went through to get him," said Fred.

Harry furrowed his brow. "But I thought all ghouls did was...growl, and throw things."

"Oh, they do," said George. "But they also are notoriously difficult to get into cages."

"All slimy and unpleasant."

Mrs Weasley served the twins their eggs, and Harry wondered if she planned to ever sit down for herself. She walked from one end of the kitchen to another, either looking for something or trying to put something somewhere.

"Are you all right?" he asked her finally, and he had to say it again for Mrs Weasley to realise he was talking to her. "Are you all right?"

"Me?" she said, turning to him. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? I'm perfectly fine." And she bustled off again.

"We've been trying to get her to slow down for years, Harry," said one of the twins—_Damn it!_ Harry had forgotten which was which. Or had they switched places? He didn't know.

"Not least so she wouldn't catch us so much," said the other.

Eventually the twins each picked up a handle on one side of the cage and trudged it out of the kitchen, towards the stairs. Harry doubted they were going to the attic

"So," said Mrs Weasley, turning to Harry and Ginny, "why couldn't you two sleep this morning?"

"I just couldn't," said Ginny. "Not after I woke up."

"Me neither," said Harry, and Mrs Weasley looked at the two of them shrewdly. She said nothing more, and suddenly there was a strong gust of wind, blowing, blowing through the window—but wasn't the window closed?— a wind so very strong that it knocked Ginny's chair backwards, and she fell, her head contacting the kitchen floor and Harry rushed to her side, panicked. Ginny however, could see nothing—the world had gone black, and she was gone.

——

Cold. Very, very cold. Freezing. Stone. Hard stone. Cold, hard stone.

Her eyes opened. Had they been closed? She couldn't remember. Something felt odd.

Ginny looked round—_no, no, no, no, no, no, not _now_. Not again._

Everywhere she looked, there was the cold—the cold, tall, stone pillars that were the very pillars that held her up and forced her downwards again.

An enormous statue rose at the back, she knew, and she did not have to actually look to see it was there. It was there. She knew it was there. Just where it always was, at the back of the chamber.

__

The Chamber.

The Chamber of Secrets.

"Do you want to play hide and seek?" came a familiar voice, so familiar that it was sickening. It was her self—not herself, but _her self_—the self that belonged to her.

"Hello, Ginevra," said the smooth voice, the one she couldn't see, but of course she couldn't see it, it was a _voice_, after all.

"Do you? Do you?" said the other, and Ginny felt her vision clearing. Had it been blurred? She couldn't remember. Something felt odd.

Ginny saw her selves, the selves that belonged to her, the selves that she had created, the selves just before her eyes—the selves _with _her eyes...

"Why am I here?" Ginny asked finally. "Again? Why am I here again?"

"You hit your head hard, Ginny," said the boy, the image of Tom Riddle, the evil inside. "Very hard. In fact—"

"Who cares about that?" said the girl, the eleven-year-old Ginny, the picture of innocence. "Let's play hide and seek!"

"Will you shut up?" said the boy. "This is no time for games." His expression changed slightly, to a small smirk. "Or is it? Is not this whole thing a game? A struggle between opposing forces? Now _is _the time for games, but not for children's games—for the most important game of all."

"What are you on about?" said Ginny, and her head was hurting. Aching. When had it started aching? She couldn't remember. Something felt odd.

"Don't you see it, Ginny?" said the boy. "Don't you feel it?"

"Feel what?" said Ginny, and she did feel something, she did feel the unbearable silence of the Chamber, she felt an ache in her head, and she felt precisely what words her self was going to say next:

"It is..._beginning_."

**_ Finis_**


End file.
